The 99
by Dunno12345
Summary: What if Bellamy hadn't made it on the dropship? What if Clarke had chosen answers over Earth? What if neither of them had made it to the ground? (Slow-burn Bellarke included)
1. Chapter One: Clarke

**Just an idea I came up with. Wasn't quite ready to be done with writing 100 Fanfiction, but this is my first alternate setting and what if scenario. Please review!**

Her fingers were stained with lead.

One of the guards had sneaked her a pencil but already it was wearing so thin, it was a nub she had to pinch to keep it from slipping through. She didn't know what she'd do when the lead tip finally ran out. The small piece was the only escape she had from the cell walls that pressed around her. But even they were losing available art space until she'd finally had to resort to drawing on the floor.

Clarke stood up, gazing at the crude image beneath her feet. It was a sun. Or what she envisioned to be a sun. It hung low over the trees, pools of light trickling over the ground. It was the best she could do from just the pictures she'd seen. Clarke had never actually seen a sun with her own eyes. She'd never felt the heat of it on her face or witnessed it breaking over the hills. Or maybe the sun was like the moon now, in that it didn't give off any warmth.

around her, the walls held other images. Pictures of stars pinned against a curtain of black. A river dividing a wood in two. There were drawings of the sea and birds, though their proportions seemed off somehow.

there were none of her parents, though. Clarke didn't want that reminder.

She ran a hand through her hair, further smearing the lead but she didn't care. Appearance didn't matter to a criminal, much less a prisoner.

Footsteps suddenly echoed down the hall, muffled by the door but she heard them. Clarke braced for whatever was coming. Her birthday was three weeks from today; too early for her to get possible reprieve; too early for her to be sentenced to death. Or maybe they'd made an exception. It wasn't unlike the Counsil to want to hurry things along. After all, it had only taken a day for her own father to be convicted. A couple hours later, and he was already drifting among the stars.

The door to her cell opened abruptly, and in walked a guard, clad in black with a gun holstered at his side. Clarke grimaced. Soren. Brusque and hotheaded, Clarke cared for him the least of the entire Guard, however much a prisoner could like her captors. But at least Corwin offered the occasional bad joke. At least Dimitri had snuck a pencil through the door.

"What do you want?" Clarke asked, not bothering to conceal the thread of hostility woven in her words.

Soren narrowed his eyes, until only slits of calculative blue shown between his lids. "Chancellor Jaha has made an announcement," he said, tone steely and unfeeling. It was evident he'd been given strict orders as to what to say; obviously straining against the borders on his words.

Clarke snorted and gave him a bitter smile. "And how exactly does that affect me? Unless he's agreed to have me floated," _like a fish,_ she mentally added.

Soren didn't rise to the bait, but she saw him flex his jaw. "You've been offered an ultimatum."

She frowned. "An ultimatum? Do I get to choose my way of demise?" Clarke shrugged. "Why don't you surprise me?"

The guard walked forward and a part of Clarke wanted to retract into the walls, but he grabbed her hand before she could, the one still clutching the nub.

"You've been offered something _no one_ could have anticipated," he hissed at her. "I wouldn't be making jokes."

Clarke smirked. "Who said I was joking?"

"Chancellor Jaha has offered you a chance to be pardoned." He pulled her closer. "Are you listening now?"

She had to admit, a large piece of her was. "Why would he pardon me?" She asked, not quite able to keep the disbelief out of her voice. "I'm an accessory to treason in his eyes."

"I didn't say your options were preferable," Soren sneered and this time, Clarke could smell his breath, sharp and bitter with the trace of protein packets.

Her mind whirred, but she wouldn't let herself hope. Not yet, anyway. Clarke kept her wariness. "What are they? Be floated in three weeks? Or stay a prisoner for life?"

Soren yanked her forward, until she was close enough to glimpse the anger in his eyes, resonating just beneath the surface. All she had to do was cut his skin, and it would come pouring out like blood.

"Be floated in three weeks," he said, "or be sent to the ground."

Clarke's lips parted in shock and she gazed back at him with wide eyes. Her confusion mustve shown in her face because Soren smiled.

Before she had a chance to ask how, or even why, his grip tightened over her wrist until she couldn't keep her hold on the pencil nub and it fell to the ground at his feet.

"At least you'll have a better view as you die," he said. Then he crushed it under his heel.


	2. Chapter Two: Bellamy

**Oh, I am excited for this. It will be a challenge! I don't even know how to portray characters I have to learn to portray in my own setting. I have to unravel these two characters and start from scratch. Bellamy in this is not the same Bellamy. Clarke is not the same Clarke. But they're still them, just with different causes and effects. But my ideas are bursting and changing and I'm like, "Oh, what would happen if you had these two characters kind of have a partnership on the Ark instead of on the ground." In addition, the chapters will be shorter because unlike my previous fanfiction, I'm not conjoining their perspectives. I'm going back and forth. But I don't want to give too much away! I hope you guys will be happy with this. Please review!**

The guard's uniform didn't fit very well. It was uncomfortable and restricting, and the Velcro padding chafed against his arms and neck. The man who'd worn this had been smaller in stature, but he was the closest to Bellamy's height that he could find. Now, that man was stuffed in one of the storage rooms, hands bound with a bloody cut on his temple from where he'd been hit. His clothes had been stripped and Bellamy guessed that when he woke up, he would be cold.

Bellamy clutched the access card tightly in his hand, the one that had the name Wyatt Tate printed in bold across the surface. It included no head-shot but there was a fingerprint record, which would get him caught if either it or his thumb were scanned. He'd dump the card before then, though. Bellamy just needed it to get through the door, the very door harboring the dropship on the other side of it.

The rumor he'd overheard had been true; Jaha really was sending criminals, juveniles, kids, to the ground. One hundred souls that would be carried to it in that huge, metal crate. One that could turn out to be a coffin. Though nobody said it, Bellamy could feel it in his bones, heard it whispering in his blood, that no one expected them to live. And if they did, then the Council didn't believe it would be for very long.

It was never about the opportunity at being pardoned. It was just about handing a bunch of teenagers a special way to die. First humans to touch the dirt in three hundred years; first humans to die on it, too.

Maybe it was bestial of him, but Bellamy wasn't really thinking of those kids. Not all of them, anyway. Ninety-nine of them filtered dismissively through his head, except for the last one.

His sister.

She was being sent to the ground, sent to her death with the other convicts. In the company of murderers and thieves and and some that probably, rightfully, deserved to be there. But Octavia wasn't one of them. Her existence had gone from being a mistake, to a secret, to something hidden beneath the floorboards of their apartment. A label. An object. She'd never been given a chance to be what she really was; just a girl, who liked pictures of butterflies and hated sleeping in the dark.

He wondered what Octavia was doing now; probably pacing the inside of her cell, like an animal. The thought made his hands fist at his sides, until the card was digging into his palm. He loosened his posture though when a group of guards strutted down the corridor. He dipped his head in their direction and then gave himself a mental reprimand. One wrong action could get them looking at him the wrong way, and he'd rather be shot on sight than risk his chances at getting to Octavia.

Bellamy had spent the last three days mulling over the plan he had constructed in his head. He wouldn't dare write it down-if that piece were discovered, it wouldn't have only incriminated him, but every connection he had. Plus, it would also reveal that his actions were premeditated, which might not make much of a difference, but he hadn't wanted to take the chance. If he were caught, he was going to be floated. He'd be pushed into an air-sealed chamber, stand before a door, and wait for it to open. And when it did, he'd be sucked out like a speck of dust, toeing the galaxy around him, before the universe claimed the atoms in his body. Maybe some would think it a beautiful way to go, but it wasn't as poetic as it sounded.

Odds were, he wouldn't survive long enough to even catch a glimpse of it. When that door opened, his body would be pulled apart, and though he'd be frozen alive, everything would burn. There would be an indefinite moment of agony, and then nothing, no sign he'd even been there, except the pieces and remnants of him floating across a sea of novas.

And he'd prefer to avoid that.

A sudden burst of trepidation welled in Bellamy's chest the closer he got, until his forehead was slick with sweat and the gun he held suddely felt heavier than the few pounds it was. But he couldn't back down now. _Wouldn't._ Not when his sister's life hung in the balance. It wasn't as if Bellamy wished to kill the Chancellor, but he'd do it, if that's what it took. But it would be a lie to say he was in favor of keeping Jaha in his position of power.

Everyone aboard the Ark understood that harsh punishments had to be inflicted for the good of the Colony. But growing up in Walden, Bellamy didn't see the justice in admonishing a boy for grabbing an extra protein pack to share with his hungry friend. He didn't see good leadership in the act of killing a young girl, simply because she'd gotten pregnant without the Council's authorization. As far as Bellamy was concerned, _for the good of the Colony_ was just a construction of words to excuse cruelty and advertise a self-righteousness over the people.

But man did what it had to do to survive. Which was precisely what he was doing, as he held up the card to the scanner, and the door standing between him and the dropship opened.

Bellamy had spent his life protecting his sister and he wasn't about to stop now. He'd follow after her. Even if that meant traveling across the stars, to a broken planet below.


	3. Chapter Three: Clarke

**The chapters are going to be short for now, just as the story picks up and I get the setting situated. They'll get longer, though. Pleeeease review!**

Clarke couldn't escape the abyss. The hole of darkness that had been punched through her chest, occupying the space where her heart should have been. Some days, she could pretend it wasn't there. Sometimes, she became too absorbed in her drawings to feel it, but ever since Soren had crushed her only piece of solace, the abyss had opened up, wider until she was sure she'd split down the center.

It whispered things to her; it drowned her in images and memories of her father. The things they'd done. The person he was. The finger toying the air above the release button that would open the chamber to space. The finger pressing it down.

That moment would haunt her for the rest of her life, and her father with it. It was true her best friend had been the one to turn them in, but she'd had to tell him first in order for him to do so. If Wells had kept his silence, her father may still be alive. If she had kept her's, he definitely would be.

Though the guilt never released its hold on her, the anger in Clarke was beginning to lessen, replaced by a veracious desire just to know.

Know how much air the Ark had left.

Know the details of her father's conviction.

And above all, to do something for her people like he'd tried to do, rather than be packed in a steel can and shipped thousands of miles away, until it hit the Earth's atmosphere. And when Soren finally arrived a few days later to escort her to it, Clarke felt the abyss open more, until she was clutching the edge, and dangling over it.

He led her from the cell with a smirk on his face she ignored, out the door and into the something that was reminiscent of freedom but was much smaller; just a grain of hope like that pencil nub, destined to be crushed.

It had been months since she'd walked this corridor. Months since she was back beneath the circadian lights that gave a spectral, ghostly tinge over her skin. Months since she'd glanced at the people walking by her, so close their shoulders brushed.

Days had elapsed since Soren had given her the news of returning to the ground and yet, Clarke still hadn't been given a clear insight as to why Jaha was sending one hundred individuals down three years early. Concern for them flooded in like water-radiation poisioning, toxicity, the necessary survival skills these kids undoubtedly lacked.

But sending down criminals made it convenient. Not only did it reduce the use of oxygen and water and food consumption, but it also provided them with a clean slate. They couldn't float a hundred people in a single day. No, the Council would just send them to the ground, and let the Earth do their bidding for them.

Meanwhile, Clarke was just left in the darkness, still not knowing the extent of it. No one bothered to shed much light for the purpose of easing her fears. Because she was a criminal. Her life didn't matter.

Clarke's heart slammed against her ribs, climbing up until it had taken residency in her throat. Blood knocked against her skull and her vision blurred the farther she was led from her cell, still adorned in images of an Earth she'd soon see. If she lived long enough, that was. Who knew; perhaps the world was just a barren place now, hollow and dead like a corpse.

Then again, Clarke had never really seen a corpse, either. Not passed the point of putrefaction, at least. The last thing the dead were ever surrounded by was shadows, illuminated by eclectic bits of constellations that cocooned them like body bags.

She swallowed and didn't realize her steps had slowed, until Soren pushed her forward.

"Move it, Griffin," he barked out behind her, voice ricocheting down the corridor. A part of her considered slowing down more, if it meant grating on his nerves, but the anxiety that clung to her refused to do anything that didn't focus on survival. But that was an empty hope in itself; there were only two fates offered to her: Die touching the ground, or die grazing the stars.

And for a moment Clarke wondered which would be worse, the radiation poisoning that made you boil from the inside out, or by the frigid temperature, that would freeze you from the outside. She couldn't help but wonder why they didn't kill them and then dispose of the bodies. It would be less painful and more humane but she guessed the Council didn't trouble itself with moral methods. Not anymore, at least.

But as she neared the chamber that held the ship that would be responsible for taking them to the ground, Clarke felt that pit well up in her chest, stronger than it had been for days. It was a hesitancy, a tidal wave of _no,_ that weighed down her feet with each step. It scraped against her mind, like a papercut itching for attention.

Was she really going to do this, she thought. Be led into a tomb? To wait for impact and touch the ground for the first time in question? As a sentence instead of privilege? Her people deserved more than that. Her father deserved more than that.

" _And where's this?" he asked her, after having spun the globe and stopped it at random. Clarke stared at the tiny bit of land that somehow had once fit hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people, somehow fitted on a sphere the size of a soccer ball. "Africa?" She asked._

 _Her father smiled, and nodded. "And here?"_

 _"America?"_

 _"Which one?"_

 _She paused. "The higher one?"_

 _He laughed but accepted her answer nonetheless. "North America. That's where some of our ancestors came from. It's where, maybe someday, we hope to go back to."_

 _Clarke stared at him in surprise. He never spoke of the ground so intimately to her before. In Clarke's mind, the ground was just a story, just a wish, like the ones you made on shooting stars. But they lived in the stars now._

 _"Will you and Mom be there, too?" she asked._

 _Her father pulled her to his chest. "We'll always be there."_

Pain radiated from the pit as the memory surged upwards. But before Clarke could brick it back up, another memory crashed over head.

" _How do you know what the right thing to do is?" Clarke asked her father, sitting on their small living room couch and reviewing something on his tablet._

 _The question must've taken him off guard, because he looked at her in surprise. "Why so philosophical?" He asked, the hint of amusement in his voice._

 _But this time, Clarke was serious. "I'm starting medical training and I just...How do you judge who deserves help more?" The question had been weighing on her shoulders, the burden of having to one day possibly choose one life the other. The possibility of not being to save anyone at all._

 _"I know Mom's the doctor and she'd probably say to help the person you can. But I want to know what you think. Does one life really take precedence over another's?"_

 _Her father leaned forward, setting down his tablet in the wake of a controversial question. His brows furrowed in the way they did when he was considering his choice of words, gauging them carefully._

 _"No one's life should be worth less than someone else's," he said. "But what you're willing to do, Clarke, aspiring to step into this field, is not to save everyone. You can't. You know you can't. No, what you have to offer is a chance." He gave her a small smile. "And your job, not just as a doctor, but as the caring person I know you are, is to make sure they get it."_

Clarke's breathing grew sporadic and her head suddenly spun. She slowed again and Soren shoved her once more, until she nearly tripped and went sprawling across the floor.

The entrance was getting closer, and Clarke could destinguish the small, angular window, embellished in the metal door. Beyond it, she glimpsed meandering heads, flashes of young faces, entering the contraption that would take them down, down, down.

If she boarded that ship, there was a high chance she'd never know what she wanted to; what everything inside her screamed to understand. If she boarded that ship, she could be leaving the rest of her people to die, on a failing air supply no one knew of.

Except for her mother. Except for her.

 _You owe it to your father,_ the pit whispered. It was taking effort to keep walking now, and Clarke felt a tremor in her knees, that reverberated to her bones and shook her blood.

Another step. They were just meters away from the door, and Clarke could see faces clearly now.

Kids. So many kids.

She cast a glance behind her, beyond Soren, to the hundreds of lives adorning the Ark.

" _What you have to offer is a chance,"_ her father's words came back to her. " _And your job is to make sure they get it."_

Clarke clenched her hands, so hard her nails nipped at her palms.

 _Do you really want to die in the dark?_

She stopped.

 _No_ , Clarke thought. _No, I don't._

"Hey, I thought I told you to keep movi-"

Clarke moved faster than she realized. One second she was standing still, and the next she'd twisted around so suddenly, and slammed the heel of her foot down on Soren's.

He hissed, bending slightly forward and that's when Clarke drew her knee up, and into an area of his that was left sorely unprotected. There was a grunt and a wheezed breath, and Clarke stood there another moment. Then she stumbled backwards and ran.

Away from him. Away from the door. Away from a ship that would carry her to Earth. And maybe a small, glimmering piece of her genuinely wanted to go down with them, to the place that would breathe life into her drawings.

But the girl born in the sky wasn't yet finished with the stars.


	4. Chapter Four: Bellamy

**For those of you who haven't read the actual series, I do use some places on the Ark that are only included there. (The tv show is so much better than the books.) I'm sorry if this scene does not coincide exactly with the show. I tried! I even read transcripts...But seriously, how did Bellamy shoot him? Jaha still made a speech, there was no gun sound, so he must've been shot and THEN delivered the speech which is...somewhat hard to believe. Since he almost dies, you know? Anyway, please review because this chapter was so hard. Thanks, All!**

The dropship chamber was flooded with people. Dozens and dozens of kids between the ages of twelve to eighteen stood in clusters, packed together alongside a smatter of guards that were stationed nearby, watching them with almost a feral gleam.

Bellamy gripped the gun so tightly, he felt the blood drain from his fingers. Not five meters away stood the dropship, the entrance to it gaping like a giant maw, consuming every delinquent to step inside. He stood back, allowing the bodies in front of him to shield him from view, until he was just a guard, blending in with the background.

His heart hammered in his chest and Bellamy found it difficult to hold on to the gun; he was surprised when it didn't slip through his sweaty hold. Already his insides were revolting against his plan, his conscience whispering from every recess of his mind, steadily rising in volume. But he silenced it with the reminder of his sister, locked away in that metal stomach, with nothing but a flimsy harness to keep her from smashing against the sides as it hurdled through space and to the Earth's surface.

Bellamy cast a glance at the dropship, just in case Octavia wasn't on board yet. A part of him wanted her to catch sight of him so she'd at least know he was here. So that she'd know her brother hadn't forgotten and that he was coming for her. But it could also blow his cover so Bellamy stayed back, not sparing a moment before he was shoving his way through again.

 _Not enough time,_ his mind berated him. _Not enough time, not enough time._

More people clamored through the door, some going willingly, others having to be forced by a guard or two and Bellamy found himself counting down the minutes, practically shoving people out of the way to get to the other side of the room, where his target was waiting for him. If Bellamy made it onto the drop ship, his first step on Earth would be taken as a murderer.

 _"If you want to save your sister,"_ Commander Shumway's words echoed in his ears, as if the man were here now, extending the gun to him. _"You have to kill Jaha."_

Bellamy's breathing grew shallow, until they left his lips in panicked gasps. He moved around the clusters of persons, taking the occasional elbow, but when they raised their eyes to meet his, he caught the spike of fear in them.

Bellamy had been on the other side of that look. He used to be the one looking up, sensing the presence of a gun and imagining a bullet burrowing itself inside him if he didn't do the right thing. A shudder of resentment ran through him, at the thought of becoming the very type of person he had learned to be terrified of. The type of person he'd grown to hate.

 _Five minutes to launch,_ a bionic voice hummed from overhead.

Bellamy pushed through the final throng, until his eyes landed on the other door, lining the opposite wall. Behind its wide, transparent window he glimpsed Jaha, approaching from its corridor. No concern weighed in the older man's features. He had no idea of what was coming, and for a second, Bellamy could almost convince himself that it was okay. After all, this was the man who had sentenced hundreds to death. The very person who had condemned his own mother. Who, just last year, had shoved his little sister into a cell just for the crime of being born.

The warning of his conscience dimmed and Bellamy moved swiftly to the door. Not soon enough, he stood before it, access card in hand. The only thing separating him from the Chancellor was a few inches of fiberglass and steel, that disappeared the moment he pressed the access card into the scanner. Then he dropped the card onto the ground, allowing the image of Wyatt Tate to be lost in the current of moving feet behind him.

 _Fire and run,_ Bellamy instructed himself as his vision tunneled, darkening at the edges until there was only Jaha in his line of sight. Bellamy stepped forward, waiting, watching. He gripped the gun impossibly tighter, until he was sure the force of it would fracture the bones in his hand. _Just fire and aim._

 _Murderer,_ his mind suddenly roared back at him, instilled with a new-found ferocity. _You will be a murderer._

But even if Bellamy did end up regretting it, there was no alternative he could conjure into existence; there was nothing else that would get him what he wanted and he let that small fact marinate inside him, as he raised the gun with shaky fingers. This was his sister. His responsibility.

He took a breath, just as his eyes locked with Jaha, pools of onyx staring straight into him. Time froze, and an expression of confusion passed over the Chancellor's face, one that quickly morphed into alarm.

Then Bellamy pulled the trigger.

Screams broke out. But Bellamy could barely hear them over the ringing in his ears. He kept his gaze forward, just long enough to see the small stain of red against Jaha's shirt that grew rapidly, turning the fabric a brilliant red. The man's knees buckled and guards swarmed around him, but Bellamy was already running.

 _Three minutes to launch,_ the robotic voice chimed.

Bellamy's facade dropped as quickly as Jaha had. He shed the pretense of his uniform and threw himself into the crowd. People stepped back, away from him and the glimmer of fear he'd seen in some of them just seconds ago instantly transformed into terror, eyes asking the silent question if they were next.

"Move!" he shouted at one of them, a scrawny girl who wasn't getting out of his way fast enough. He didn't care; the drop ship door was too close now. Too close for him to allow anyone to risk his chance of making it inside.

"Arrest him!" the command broke out behind him and he heard the few guards charge through the crowd after him. Bellamy shoved harder until he was hurdling through arms and hands and people who couldn't get away, like rodents trapped in rising water.

 _Two minutes to launch._

 _Almost there,_ he mentally screamed when he saw the thick frame of the Exodus ship, just feet away and beckoning him forward. Octavia was just inside and Bellamy could almost hear her surprised gasp as she spotted him, could feel her embrace. Had she grown much over the last year?

A shot fired and instinctively, Bellamy ducked, dropping and maneuvering through the dying havoc as the remaining juveniles rushed the ship. A few even knocked him off course, but he pushed back. He just needed to get a little farther. Just a little farther...

Another shot burst from somewhere and Bellamy felt a force slam into him. A splattering sound that reminded him of spilled paint flooded his ears and he looked down, just enough to see the beads of blood, _his_ blood, decorating the floor in a constellation of red.

 _49 seconds to launch._

Bellamy pulled himself towards the dropship door, just feet from him, taunting him. But a moment later, the pain finally registered, and fire licked at his shoulder blade, screaming at his every slight movement. He felt sweat collect on his forehead and brows, trickling down the nape of his neck. He felt the world spin uncontrollably and Bellamy dug his nails into the floor, searching for purchase, for something to just hold on to until it stopped.

 _10 seconds to launch._

Bellamy pulled himself to his feet. He ignored the sudden explosion of black dots that bombarded him, scattering over his vision like stars. He stole a glance behind him, at the approaching guards, coming closer and closer, hands reaching for him, barrels seeking a body to fill with bullets. In a room stuffed with bodies, perhaps he could've made it. But those bodies had loaded onto the Exodus ship, leaving him exposed with a target on his back.

Another gunshot pierced the air and Bellamy dove to the side, just between the wall and the Exodus ship that offered a small cover. His back slammed against it and he hissed at the sharp pain that bit into his shoulder.

 _Five,_ the voice counted down.

Panic bubbled up inside him and Bellamy looked back at the door, both too close and yet, still exponentially far. It was morbidly comical at how close he really was. Cruel in every sense of the word and the panic rose until there was nothing else. Maybe's filtered through his head, but Bellamy's mind had already understood what his heart was in denial of, that still recklessly urged him on, forward, to death.

He wouldn't make it.

For one, fleeting second, Bellamy wanted them to shoot. He wanted the fatal bullet, as clearly as it wanted him. That would've been better. To die than to leave Octavia at the mercy of the Earth. Without him. Without anyone.

But that thought faded as quickly as it had come, as something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. Somehow in the pandemonium, the access card had found its way back to him, lying just a few feet away. He looked back at the door.

Already, the dropship door was descending, sealing Bellamy off from his sister. And though he felt it like a physical weight, bearing down in his chest and crushing him from the inside out, he knew the risk would be his life. And he was no help to Octavia dead.

 _Three._

Bellamy's eyes fell back to the access card, staring up at him just beyond his small cover. He glanced up, at the circadian lights and aimed his own weapon at them. He fired, and they exploded in a shower of sparks, raining to the floor before flickering and going out.

 _Two._

Bellamy reached for the access card and darted forward, flinching at the rain of bullets that pinged against the dropship, beside the door where they anticipated him to be, as if they expected him to walk straight into them and die reaching for the ship taking his sister far, far away.

But Bellamy wouldn't be. Instead, he was reaching for the other door that would take him back into the belly of the Ark.

He scanned the card and the gunfire shifted over to him, but he had already ducked beneath the rising door, and into the corridor stretching before him. He spared a final glance at the dropship, its entryway now sealed and something stabbed at his heart, worse than the bullet wound.

 _One._

Bellamy didn't wait. He just disappeared back the way he'd come, vaguely aware of the pain that erupted over his shoulder. Something wet clung to the insides of his sleeve but Bellamy dismissed it, ignoring the blood that had soaked through his shirt and was now dripping down his fingers.


	5. Chapter Five: Clarke

**Oh. My. Gosh. Okay, so not only are the names different from the books and tv show, but the entire layout of the Ark. The main setting for this story. So I had to go back and look it up. It even required notes. But I can finally say, I have the book and show separated. Everything included in this fanfiction is based off the show. Not the book. And it will pick up if it seems slow because no on's really talking yet, grrrr. But it's coming, Guys. It's coming.**

Clarke didn't pause to catch her breath. She didn't stop or even spare a glance back. She pictured Soren in her mind, looming just behind her with curled fingers reaching out. She thought she felt the tips of them brush against her spine, but the corridors were quiet, save for the sound of her own footsteps echoing around her.

Clarke took sharp turns, moving through the Ark as if it were a labyrinth, hoping to lose whatever trail she may have laid. She wanted someplace safe, someplace far away from guards and cells and broken lead. But she was on a ship. The area of it was pitifully finite and she was no more a needle in the haystack than she was a black stain on a white sheet.

A noise sounded from the end of her corridor and Clarke backtracked, just enough to dip down a different one branching south. But no direction seemed welcoming to her and she was overcome by a sudden feeling of entrapment, like some terrified, helpless creature lying in wait of the hunter.

Every part of Clarke ached for her home; for her small bedroom; for her desk that held a paltry supply of pencils, hidden in the top drawer. But Clarke wasn't stupid, and she'd learned from her past recklessness. Her living quarters were marked, and she knew it would be the first place guards would show up to. Clarke had already gotten her father floated. She wasn't about to send her mother to the stars, too.

Clarke's legs burned but she kept going, passing the gate that separated this Station from the Factory Station. It was a poorer sector and a tangible heaviness clung to the air, somber if not a little oppressive. And this time, Clarke couldn't avoid the approaching people and she slowed her gait, feigning nonchalance as if she weren't a convict. As if she weren't seeking refuge in a very cage itself.

She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back, and she could have sworn that the passerby could hear her heart, beating wildly against her chest. Almost instinctively, Clarke pulled her sleeve down over the wristband and moved a bit faster, nearly pushing passed a mousy-haired woman. Their shoulders brushed.

Only an hour ago that moment of contact with another human being had given Clarke comfort. Now it felt threatening, as if these people would see who she was, by just one touch, by just one glance into her eyes.

Clarke moved away from them and her gaze swept over the closest doors, searching for someplace vacant. There was the packaging room, stuffing protein powder into small white bags, being carried away by a conveyor belt. There was a cleaning room, and a sorting chamber, and Clarke suddenly felt disoriented, swallowing down her panic before pushing forward. She hadn't spent much time in the Factory Station. The only other Station she spent most of her time at outside her own was Government and Science that housed the medical bay. And for good reason.

Not many people besides the Council wandered through the twelve Stations freely, and though it wasn't illegal, it drew unwanted attention, from both the Council and the probing eyes of the Ark.

Clarke wanted to stop and catch her breathe, but the image of Soren flashed through her mind again and she felt desperation claw inside her. Clarke gritted her teeth, and peered into one windowed door after another.

Not empty. She caught the blurring movement of people beyond them as more people swept by beside her, their current slowing her pace and it took her every ounce of willpower not to shout at them.

A noise shattered from overhead and Clarke flinched, feeling her heart clamor into her throat as something painted her vision red, bathing the corridor is the color of blood. It screamed in her ears and her hands shook violently, clenching them until her nails broke the skin.

The alarms. They'd been raised.

She looked back at the corridor, now a crimson path extending before her., calloused with a few stricken workers. But just beyond them, Clarke glimpsed a pair of men, their movements strong and synchronized, the alarms turning their otherwise black gear a dark maroon.

The sweat that had gathered on her back suddenly felt ice cold, it's chill cutting to the bone.

Her eyes fixed on the two guards coming toward her, guns holstered, their gazes flat and apathetic, faces awash in the reddish hue. Already Clarke could picture their hands on her, could feel their nails digging into her arms as they pulled her down the corridor and shoved her into a chamber, leaving her alone, and to the vastness of space.

 _No_. She wouldn't go back. _She would not_.

Clarke didn't hesitate; she darted to the closest door, no longer caring that people saw her or what room she barreled inside. It didn't matter; what mattered were those two guards, getting closer by the second. If they caught her, Clarke wouldn't get her answers. She wouldn't help her people. She'd die not just a few minutes after escape, her freedom as ephemeral as the shooting stars passing somewhere overhead.

The door opened and Clarke forced her way inside. She closed it behind her, careful not to slam it until she felt the metal lock beneath her hands. She dropped down from the window, keeping far away from it as she pressed her back into the wall, the alarms still wailing beyond the door tantamount to her rising panic that she grappled to gain control of.

 _Focus,_ Clarke told herself. _I have to focus._

She moved farther into the room, and blinked at the sudden presence of dust that stung her eyes. It was a recycling room. The ceiling rose high above her head and the floor unfurled into a wide, square expanse, filled with machines and the steady pulse of their activity.

Clarke suddenly became aware of the few people, scuttling back and forth between them and she dropped her head, trying to disappear into her surroundings. She cast a glance at the door, ensuring no guard was barging through, before she ducked behind one of the machines.

Clarke waited for one of the workers to make her known. To call out to the guards, but they didn't.

It was only then, sitting on the cold, grimy floor that Clarke finally let herself breathe. She drew in lungfuls of air but it quickly turned into a fit of gasps, as the full weight of her reality dropped like a stone on her shoulders.

It took her a second to grasp it, at the entirety of the circumstances. For her to come to terms with the fact that she wasn't on the drop ship. She wasn't hurdling towards Earth with ninety-nine other kids. That she'd stayed on the Ark. As a convict. As a fugitive.

Clarke wrapped her hands around her knees and pulled them tightly to her. Thousands of miles beneath her feet, the dropship was probably landing, touching down on the earth. The ninety-nine must just be watching the door lift, staring out into the newness, eagerly stepping out to greet it. Clarke imagined shoes pressing into the dirt. She imagined the sunlight kissing human skin for the first time in ninety seven years.

Or maybe they hadn't even made it that far.

Maybe, like her, they were already dead.

* * *

There was an abandoned chamber that was beneath the storage in Agro Station. Over a decade ago, debris had made impact with its exterior, and the Council deemed the chamber insecure. But warnings were like wire fences to children; they always managed to worm their way through.

And that's precisely what Clarke had done; She'd sneaked over to it with Wells who'd wanted to see the result of the first collision their ship had encountered in nearly forty years. He was the one who had shared it with her.

That was the advantage to growing up with the Chancellor's son; you became intimate with the secrets of the Ark.

They managed to sneak through security to the chamber and sure enough, there it was, the wall dividing the Ark from space bloated and mangled. They'd only glimpsed it for a moment before Wells had been spotted. He'd shoved her to the side to keep her out of sight and though his father had called it a minor infraction, it would've been worse for Clarke.

She could remember sitting in the dark room, eyes trained on that wall, waiting for it to explode and for the blackness to suck her out.

It wasn't a place Clarke exactly felt comfortable in, but she remembered how to get there after her ten-year-old version had found her way back out. It was the only relatively safe place she could think of going and if it hadn't collapsed now, it probably wouldn't. Unless they struck something else. Then it was just another threat of death on her ever-growing list.

Before Clarke made her move, she waited for the alarms to die down, but it took almost hours. She spent it all cramped between the machines, hiding herself from any passerby, and watching that door like she had that wall. As if the guards would come through at any moment.

 _Maybe they'll shoot me instead,_ she thought and Clarke decided right then that that would've been her preferred way to die. At least it wouldn't hurt for long.

 _But I'm not dead yet,_ she added, and when the alarms finally ceased their crying, Clarke pulled herself out of her hiding spot and towards the door.

Beyond it, the red lights had disappeared but the corridor was nearly vacant, making the sound of her breath seem very very loud. She drew up a map in her head, trying to find the easiest route to the chamber. She still had to go through three different Stations and avoid the evening patrol. Clarke wondered if they'd raised the curfew in light of the danger she presented to the Ark, as if _she_ were the actual threat to it.

Clarke moved down the corridor, quickly, silently, with nothing but the sound of her heartbeat and the shuffle of the metal grates under her. The circadian lights above flickered and Clarke felt everything inside her still, until she remembered again that she was in the Factory Station. They had restrictions, on something even as basic as light. But this place had children, too. Were they all forced to fall asleep in the dark?

Clarke took another step forward, just as the lights blinked out and she was left in the shadows, with nothing but the spectral glow of tivoli tubes marking the edges of the corridor. She made it one yard. Two. She tripped and stumbled forward, one knee hitting the floor.

She hissed out a breath and made to get up. But when another noise drifted to her, Clarke was suddenly grateful for the darkness, that made her go unnoticed when another pair of guards came around and Clarke scurried to the sides, pressing herself into a small recess of space.

The guards grew louder and this time, Clarke could distinguish words, spoken low in the darkness.

"If he's smart, he'll know to stay away from here," one of them chimed, in a voice surprisingly deep that Clarke didn't recognize. "We should be looking in Hydra. Or Sci Gov. He's injured, after all."

"Then we'll just wait for nature to take its course," the other answered, but this one was more familiar. "Until he bleeds out. Or dies of infection."

The sound of it tugged at Clarke's memory, itching like a scab until a face rose to mind and it hit her. The voice belonged to Commander Shumway.

Clarke felt suddenly confused. Who was he talking about? It clearly wasn't about her, unless they'd messed up the facts that for one, she wasn't a man, and that she hadn't sustained injuries. No, this was about someone else. Someone who had done _something_ else.

"Hope its the latter," the first languished, his words dripping with sincerity. "The least he can do is die a slow death. Pain is a better payment than just floating him."

Clarke pushed herself harder against the wall as they bother drew nearer, just feet away from passing her refuge.

"If that bullet doesn't kill him, he will be," Shumway replied.

They walked past her unseeing, and she half expected them to feel her fear, for it to reach over and coax their eyes to her. But they kept walking and Shumway's voice wafted back to her, with a hardness, a _finality_ in it that made her shiver.

"We'll find him soon enough," he said. "There's only so many places he can go on a ship before stepping out into space. And when we do, _I'll_ be the one to oblige him that."


	6. Chapter Six: Bellamy

**REUNION...Well, "first encounter" technically and...Almost. I'm getting there, Guys. SO CLOSE. But I'm psyched for how they are going to interact with each other XD. Bellamy was a jerk in season one, so I want to keep their chemistry similar as it is in the show. But I really like writing from his perspective. I hope I capture it accurately. But I've got plans for this, Guys. Important plans! So please, you beautiful people, _please_ review! **

Blood was everywhere. It soaked through Bellamy's sleeve and ran in ropes down his arm, plastering the material to his skin. Not moments before he was down the corridor, the sound of alarms pierced the air, shattering the stillness between Bellamy's footsteps and the sound of pursuing guards. For a second, he thought blood must have gotten in his eyes, because the entire world turned red.

He ran for as long as he could, until his legs threatened to give underneath him and he dove into an equipment room. Bellamy barely registered the small quarters, full of repair utensils, before everything rushed back to him.

Now Bellamy was feeling the pain. It raked down his shoulder blade and lit the nerves on fire. It darkened the edges of his vision and made his head swim.

He splayed a hand over the nearest wall, trying to keep himself upright long enough to tear off a piece of his undershirt.

 _I'm not dying here,_ he told himself, even as unconsciousness threatened to overpower him. He hadn't shot the Chancellor just to die in an equipment room.

Bellamy wrapped the cloth around his forearm with quaking fingers and pulled it taught, until the fabric bit into him. Blood drenched it instantly and Bellamy's hand came away slick with scarlet. He let out a curse and looked around the room, trying to see through his blurring vision.

His eyes landed on a chest of sorts. Or a broken cryo chamber, dusted in a layer grime, thick with evident neglect.

He took a step forward, and the ground seemed to tilt sideways and Bellamy suddenly found himself lying on it. He struggled to get up, but a heaviness settled over his body, sinking him into the floor. A darkness crept into his vision, slowly falling over his eyes like a black curtain. The final act.

Maybe that meant he was dying. Forget that being in an equipment room or not. Whether he wanted it or not. His plans hadn't exactly deigned to go accordingly today. This morning, he'd expected to be on a ship headed for Earth. And instead he was bleeding to death in a closet still on the Ark.

But that didn't mean he would go quietly.

As a last ditch effort, Bellamy pulled himself over to the chest and hefted up the lid. Somehow, by pure will or stubbornness, he managed to clamor his way inside. Then he shut it, and more darkness erupted. The last thing he thought of was Octavia and the promise he made to their mother.

 _My sister. My responsibility._

Then the shadows took him.

* * *

 _Bellamy didn't know what sunlight looked like, but he hadn't imagined it to be like this. Not like pools of gold, trickling though the branches. Not like a patchwork of diamond netting sparkling over the ground, beyond the door of the dropship he still stood inside._

 _It was beautiful and strange, but not quite foreign. It seemed natural, like this kind of light was supposed to be, and the one he'd grown up beneath was just some poor imitation of it. No, after seeing what sunlight was, he never wanted to be without it._

 _Bellamy took a step forward, eager to see what else Earth had to offer. To feel the dirt under his feet. To feel the wind in his hair, one that wasn't made by turbines or propellers but real wind that traveled on its own time. He wanted to breathe in this air, not the air that had traveled through corridors for ninety seven years. But fresh air, that no human had tasted before._

 _He wanted it all and no part of him could afford to feel guilty for this piece of selfishness. It wasn't a conscious want, it was an instinctive want, that ran so deep he felt it press against his soul, whispering things like life and beauty and freedom until it became as steady as his heartbeat._

 _Bellamy made for the door faster, until he was just inches away from seeing it. From seeing it all._

 _Then two things happened._

 _Like a switch, the sunlight went out, leaving him in luminous shadows. And where the door had stood, open and welcoming, it now began to close, preparing to lock him inside._

 _"No!" Bellamy tried to move forward, but it was as if his feet had been nailed to the floor. He couldn't lift them. He couldn't do anything but watch the door, as it fell lower and lower to the ground._

 _A scream exploded from somewhere, and Bellamy stilled before he started struggling again, feeling as if all his senses, every cell in his body had been electrocuted. His blood sang through his veins as he recognized his sister's screams, coming from beyond the closing door._

 _"O?" He shouted, straining against the unseen force that kept him there, immobile. "Octavia!"_

 _"Bellamy!" He heard her cry out, and something twisted inside him. "Help!"_

 _Bellamy pulled. He yanked and shoved and clawed his way towards it but nothing gave. His feet were held as firmly as steel, infused into the metal grating. "Octavia!" he shouted again. But there was no reply this time. And he watched in horror as the door finally closed, taking the last fragments of light with it._

* * *

Bellamy had brushed the hand of death once before. It was when he was younger, just a little kid whose strongest asset had been the ability to keep his mouth shut. A couple of other children his age had corralled him into one of the floating chambers. Why it'd been unsupervised then, he'd had no idea, but those little jerks had pushed him inside and closed it. He'd watched, helplessly from the other side, banging his tiny fists against the glass as one of the older boys had teased the air above the lethal button that would pull him into nothingness.

Bellamy could remember screaming so hard his throat turned raw; slamming his hands again and again until they were raw, too.

And those kids? They'd laughed.

It had been the only time Bellamy had been glad to see a guard; the only time one had been his hero instead of his enemy. But even when he was out of the chamber, he couldn't shake the feeling he was still moments away from being sucked into darkness.

And this felt kind of like that.

There was darkness. And Bellamy felt cold. He kept falling in and out of consciousness, sometimes aware, sometimes speaking to his sister as if he were back in hiding with her. He bobbed beneath the waves again and again, the chill worsening but he wasn't sure if that was due to the blood loss or the dark images that haunted him in sleep. At one point, he'd jolted up, feeling as if he were choking only to find a wad of cloth he'd stuffed in his mouth to keep any noises he might have made muffled. But then he'd dropped back into that dark sea, feeling waves of nightmares knock him down deeper and deeper until he was certain he'd drown.

Bellamy wasn't sure when those waters receded enough for him to open his eyes and actually make sense of where he was, but eventually, he did. Right. He was in a box. In a closet. On the Ark. Still in space. He'd been shot and though it seemed to be numb, Bellamy doubted that was a good sign. He needed medical attention. In the very least, disinfectant. But the medical bay was in Sci Gov Station, which would be guarded since they knew he'd been shot and would go after supplies.

Great.

Through the fog clouding his ability to think clearly, Bellamy contemplated his options. He could either try for the bandages and possibly live. Or stay in this box until it became his coffin. Neither option seemed appealing, and Bellamy would've preferred to die on his own terms rather than being shot off into space by some pretentious guard just aching to do the bidding. No, he'd die by one of their bullets instead.

It was just a slow enough death that he could _pretend_ it was on his terms.

From the depths of the cryo chamber, Bellamy let out a scoff, but it sounded more like a groan. No, he would _not_ die in a box. He wouldn't be caught by the guards. He'd come up with a way to make it into Sci Gov undetected, get what he needed, and then find some alternative to reach the ground. For now, he would ignore the asininity of his plan. To a dying man, it was sound logic, so he raised his good hand to the lid of the chamber.

A cold draft seemed to sweep in as he hefted it open and though his arm was numb, he still felt the stab of pain that laced down his shoulder. His vision was fuzzy, but Bellamy wrested his way out of the box, praying his legs didn't buckle right there. Or worse; in the corridor.

When he stood, Bellamy felt the shaking in his knees and wondered how long he'd been without food. Or water. Yet just another thing he'd need to avoid not dying. So be it, then.

Bellamy moved to the door of the room, and opened it slowly, half expecting a phalanx of guards to be waiting for him on the other side. But there was nothing except an empty corridor, expanding left and right.

Maybe if he passed anyone, they'd think he was just a guard. But Bellamy doubted the clothing was an advantage anymore. They were looking for an impostor. They'd be checking the guards and if that didn't give him away, his bleeding shoulder and undoubtedly pale face would.

 _Screw it,_ Bellamy thought, before forcing his legs forward. The haze in his mind seemed to clear as adrenaline spiked his heart rate, warning him of every sound; every movement even if it was as subtle as changing lights. He walked as fast as he could, feeling the breath go out of him whenever he spotted someone in the distance and he had to lower his head or shove himself in a far corner. Bellamy imagined those alarms going off again. Pictured hands shoving him into a floating chamber and this time, pressing the button.

He clenched his hands and ignored the pain, grinding his teeth and moving forward...forward. That was all he had to do. He just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Get supplies. Get water. Get to the ground.

 _Get supplies. Get water. Get to the ground._

Bellamy chanted this like a mantra in his head, focusing on them so hard, he nearly missed the sound of pounding feet, heading directly towards him.

Bellamy turned around. And stilled, like a deer caught in the headlights, hoping the image of three guards down the corridor was just a hallucination. But then their eyes locked with him, a shout rang out, and that hope was instantly lost.

Bellamy bolted. Down the corridor, all concern for pain and blood evaporating. His feet pounded as he ran, knocking over anyone close enough to get in his way.

"Stop!" The guards behind him roared, but that only spurred him faster. He spared a few glances at either side of him, dropping down one corridor after the next, praying something that he could hide behind or under or in would materialize in front of him.

He burst into some sub-level of Agro Station, searching, turning in a small circle for just _something._ Maybe another equipment room, a bathroom, he'd even take another cryo chamber if it meant-

Bellamy's gaze dropped to a storage locker, embedded in the far-side wall. He didn't waste any time and Bellamy ran to it and pulled it open, revealing a small rectangular space.

What was it with him and boxes?

Ignoring the sudden stab of pain that exploded over his shoulder, Bellamy stuffed himself inside, sitting atop whatever vials or synthetic seeds or textbooks that was stored away with him. He yanked the small door of it shut, and his nightmare mingled with reality, as everything went out.

Bellamy counted down the seconds, each one holding a tangible weight to them as he heard footsteps, growing louder and louder, seemingly from all sides.

 _Eight...nine..._

A moment later, his heart leaped in his throat as the handle to the storage locker jostled.

Everything inside Bellamy screamed at him to fight, to die with his fists in a guard yet his exhaustion belied his ability to do so. But he could go out with his chin up and his head held high. He could walk out strong.

Bellamy remembered what his mother used to tell Octavia, for her to brave returning to the darkness beneath the floorboards. _"I am not afraid,"_ his mother's voice chimed in his head. _"I am not afraid. Say it."_

 _I am not afraid,_ Bellamy told himself.

He closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter Seven: Clarke

**I'm sorry it took long to get to this point but I needed to set it up. But I think it's fitting. I hope it's fitting. Please tell me it's fitting!**

The Chancellor had been shot.

That was one of the things Clarke learned in the two days since the dropship had been launched. She'd caught it in the hushed whispers exchanged between people, snatching pieces of the story from the air voiced down corridors and in rooms she tried to avoid.

The second thing Clarke had found out was that guards were patrolling the area she needed to bypass in order to make it to the abandoned chamber, but they moved at what seemed to be random intervals. It wasn't as if she could stick around longer to find a pattern. She needed that chamber; needed someplace safe to construct some kind of plan. Clarke knew she had to get information on the air supply. And on her dad's file. But to her dismay, both were in Jaha's chambers. Clarke knew the code to get in, after Wells had told it to her, but she still had the rotating guards to deal with.

Which left her walking towards Agro Station, hoping today, she'd find a way to the storage chamber beneath. She felt her heart lurch in her chest with every step she took. An even greater fear was beginning to take up residency in her chest; that she wouldn't be able to recover any of it, not her father's file or the air supply information; that the only thing Clarke would manage to change was the way she died, swapping the ground for the stars.

Clarke shoved that thought as far from her as she could. At least the only thing she had left to lose was her life. What concerned her more was the other two thousand aboard this ship.

Clarke switched onto another corridor, keeping her head bowed, wary of every person that came near her, waiting for the shouts, for the alarms, for the sound of pounding feet. She was so close. So close to that chamber that she could almost feel it a floor beneath the soles of her shoes.

But then a sound coming from down the corridor caught her attention and Clarke's alertness piqued. She kept going, though, towards Agro. Towards the chamber. If she reacted to every sound, it would drive her insane. She needed to stay calm. She needed to stay focused.

Clarke cast a glance over her shoulder, before turning to the next corridor that would take into Agro.

She stepped onto it, just as that sound came again, much louder and undeniably much, much closer.

Clarke felt everything in her still.

That sound. She recognized it now, no longer muffled by walls or distance. It was the echo of feet on metal grating, on steel, sounding from the next corridor and suddenly, the image of running pursuers burst into real life. All of Clarke's structured thoughts abandoned her.

Her legs suddenly felt heavy, especially when she spotted the guards, having reached the corridor she was on.

That was all it took and Clarke's entire body reacted instinctively. She ran, pushing people out of her way, ignoring the gasps of disapproval and hurt erupting from those she practically knocked over. Her heart slammed against her chest and her lungs burned.

But Clarke couldn't feel any of it. She couldn't think passed anything but the guards that were coming. That were coming for her. But she wouldn't be caught. Not yet. Not when there was still so much-

She move faster, forcing her legs on, ignoring the ache in her muscles and the dryness of her throat. At the end of the corridor, she saw an entrance to Agro and launched herself through it. Clarke came to a halt.

Adrenaline messed with the mental map in her head, blurring the directions until it took essential seconds for her to grasp her surroundings.

She was in some type of common room. Empty.

Clarke looked back down the corridor she'd come from.

More pounding. More guards.

Her eyes roved over the area, up, down. There was nothing and she felt the terror of something feral and wild, cornered from all sides. Fear erupted inside her and trickled like ice water down her spine.

But then Clarke's gaze paused, spotting a small chamber, nearly hidden from her line of sight in the wall. A storage locker.

Without hesitation, Clarke reached for it, grabbing onto the handle and swinging it open.

She ducked down.

And was greeted by a face.

A jolt went through her as she met wide brown eyes set on prominent cheekbones and framed by a halo of matted dark hair. For a second, she could only look at the man, crammed inside a small box, looking stricken. Something dark burned in those eyes, and Clarke dropped her gaze, to what he was wearing. She caught the silver seal glimmering dully on his chest. She glimpsed the gun at his side, the stain of red on the fabric of his shirt, and her blood froze.

Clarke understood quickly, the sight clicking together like puzzle pieces. She knew who he was; why he was hiding in a storage locker. What other reason did a guard have to hide unless they weren't a guard? Unless they were an impostor, the one that had put a bullet through the Chancellor's chest.

For a second, he held her gaze seemingly as perplexed as she was. Panic flashed in his onyx eyes, but he recovered quickly.

"Don't scream," he hissed at her, the cadence of his voice deep and gruff. A warning.

Clarke couldn't even spare herself a moment of surprise, as she stared at this strange man, before glancing back down towards the corridor, the sound of footsteps approaching like a drum. "They're coming," she said, in a voice carved from desperation. "Please!"

He didn't move, but Clarke had the unsettling feeling that if looks could kill, she'd be dead and without his hesitation.

He grabbed for the handle, but Clarke put a hand out.

His eyes burned into her's. _"Get out of my way._ "

The sound of approaching guards grew louder and Clarke stopped trying to reason with him, she pushed her way through, shoving him farther into the wall. His breath sawed through his lips, but his hand latched onto hers, clammy and unusually warm.

For one, terrifying heartbeat, Clarke was sure he'd push her back out, into the open.

But instead, he cast a glance trained somewhere over her head, and yanked the rest of her inside. She barely managed to pull her hands in before the man slammed the door shut, sealing them in a pit of darkness.

Clarke held her breath as the footsteps grew closer, closer, until she was pressing her back against the wall so firmly, pain laced up her back. She was aware of the guy sitting opposed to her, his legs pressing painfully into hers, aware of their breathing, mixing together in the tight space.

She imagined Soren's face, peering into the door. That gleam in his eyes, the eyes of a trained predator, as it landed on its prey.

 _I found you._

She waited, until the sound of the marching guards, once synchronized, now clearly in disarray, began to diminish, passing the box they hid inside.

Clarke let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. But her relief was short lived. Only then did she realize the stranger's hand was still locked around her arm and she tried to retract it, but his hold was firm, unrelenting like steel.

Clarke waited, but the only sound that came was the sound of breathing, vaguely laced with the pounding of both their hearts.

"You're him, aren't you?" Clarke asked quietly, the desperation giving way to shock. Or horror. It wasn't as if she placed Chancellor Jaha in any high esteem,-couldn't, with a man who'd killed so many and had hid behind rules and laws to justify it all.

He was the one who had sentenced her father to death. He was the one who'd stood by and watched one of his men press the button.

"The guard who shot Jaha."

Clarke couldn't see it in his eyes, but she felt the coldness in his voice, pricking her skin and raising the hairs on the back of her neck. "If you so much as scream, I promise, I will kill you. I'm already wanted for one body. So I've got nothing else to lose."

Surprising vehemence leaked into Clarke's tone as she stared in the direction of him. "Well you're in luck," she retorted. "Because it would seem we're both dead men walking."

At the lack of response coming from the opposing darkness, Clarke suddenly wished there was much more space separating them. Maybe he was planning a way to make good on his threat. At least with her death, there was variety.

"Why did you do it?" Clarke suddenly asked, almost against her volition, and as if to keep the quietness at bay. It'd been days since she'd had any human interactions. Months since it had been with anyone outside of a guard's uniform. But he wasn't really a guard.

"What's it to you?" he snapped.

Even though she couldn't see him, Clarke found herself narrowing her eyes. The air around her seemed to grow taut with tension. "Never mind. Maybe you just saw an opportunity." She hesitated a moment. "Not that I particularly blame you for it." She added.

Clarke tried to imagine it herself, waging whether or not she could pull that trigger and end the Chancellor's life. To have his blood on her hands. She wouldn't have taken the shot herself, though. That much he knew. Jaha may have sentenced her father to death, but Clarke wouldn't sentence him to his. She wouldn't play Chancellor by picking who lived and who died.

More awkward silence. Clarke tried to move her leg, but it only caused the man's kneecap to jab deeper into her thigh. She jostled him and Clarke caught the sound of his breathing, shallow and labored.

"You're injured," she said, remembering Shumway's words. Having it confirmed in the strain of the man's voice she had originally taken for fear or panic. Maybe it was both.

He bit back a scoff. "I've noticed."

Clarke took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tang of sweat and the metallic stench of blood as she eyed the spot where the handle was, hidden in the darkness. She didn't know if it was safe to go out yet. She didn't know if it was any safer staying in here.

"Why aren't you on the dropship?" the stranger asked.

The question caught Clarke by surprise. "How did you-?"

"The wristband," he replied. "I recognize it. And you running from the guards is a pretty good indication you're doing something you're not supposed to."

Clarke pursed her lips, debating on whether to tell this man-a wanted criminal, quite possibly the most wanted criminal on the Ark,-anything about herself. But Clarke already had a death sentence, and not even the Council could kill her twice.

"I..." She swallowed. "There's something here I have to finish."

The stranger scoffed, revealing, in that one single action, all condescension and mockery. "Like what?" He asked, as if it were a joke and he was waiting to hear the punchline.

Clarke shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "I have a feeling you honestly don't care."

"I care about the things that could get in my way," he said. "And some privileged, little girl's crusade sounds like it could be one of them."

Clarke glowered in the direction she imagined his face to be. Those dark eyes, hidden just behind the veil of shadows. "Believe me, it's not my intent to cause you and inconvenience."

Her quip hung in the air between them and she decided now was as safe a time as any. Clarke reached for the handle.

She felt the cool edge of it, right before the man snatched her hand back.

"Wait," he ordered. "I can't let you out of here. Not when I know you could go running off to the nearest guard or Marcus Kane himself and use intel of me as leverage to reduce your sentence."

Clarke had to give the man credit. It was a good idea, if her primary concern was being floated. Fortunately for her, it wasn't. But she didn't have anything helpful to offer Marcus Kane anyway, other than that she'd crossed paths with a boy, dawned in officer clothing. Bleeding.

They were already looking for that.

"And what exactly am I going to tell them?" she asked. "That you're on the Ark? I'm pretty sure they've already figured that much out by now. Besides, I actually stayed behind for different motives other than catching Jaha's shooter, so you don't have to worry about that."

 _He'll be caught in time_ , she thought to herself. And so would she. Living in a cage made that inevitable and Clarke couldn't help but think it ironic, how the infinity of space gave you nowhere to run.

The man let out a breath of exasperation, something that bordered on amusement. "Let me guess," he chided. "You stayed back for someone. A boyfriend?" he proffered cynically. "Because I doubt it's your sick grandmother."

Clarke felt her annoyance grow, but she shoved it down. "It's important," she told him. "We all have our reasons. But I should probably thank you. You've diverted attention away from me long enough to get around. Then again, now the guards have been doubled, so I'm not sure it was that helpful."

Again, Clarke's eyes fell the shadows near the handle and she went for it once more. If it wasn't clear now, it never would be.

"Wait," the stranger said again, and that threat was back in his voice. Maybe it had never left.

"No," Clarke told him. "I'm done waiting." She tried to move passed him and she managed to open it enough for a sliver of light to leech its way inside, but injured or not, the man had at least a hundred pounds on her, and he closed it again quickly.

"No," he snapped. "Because you're going to do what I tell you to do. I don't know who you are and frankly you're right, I don't care. But I can't trust that you won't do whatever it takes to save your own skin or whoever else you're involved with."

Anger lit inside Clarke's chest. "My life," she ground through her teeth, "Isn't my priority."

"But _something_ is. And if that stands to jeopardize anything I need in order to-" The words broke off and he suddenly sucked in a breath as if he'd been stung.

Even in the darkness, Clarke recognized the signs. She recalled how warm his hand had felt, clammy and sweating, and burning to the touch.

"Your injury," she said, monotone. "It's infected."

"What, are you a doctor or something?" he rasped.

"I'm training..." a painful feeling flitted inside her, just over her heart. "I was training to be. But it looks like you don't have to worry about me getting in your way, not when your biggest concern is that injury."

He wheezed in what Clarke could only assume was a laugh. "Did they teach you that in your training? Because if that's the case, I'm as good a doctor as you are." Another wheeze, but this one sounded more like a groan. "It doesn't matter anyway. If I'm caught, it's not like they're going to patch me up just to float me."

Her curative mind kicked into gear and Clarke felt a pang of pity for this man, hurt and bleeding beside her. But it vanished as quickly as it had come. No one had forced him to shoot the Chancellor. Just as no one had forced her from the dropship. People made choices, and they would always have to live with the consequences of them.

"There are guards patrolling the med bay," Clarke said. "Twenty four hour watches, I assume, like they're doing here. I don't know the rotation times, but-"

"The timings are paired," the man interjected. "Five minutes, back to back. Then ten, and fifteen. Restarts back at five."

Clarke's eyes widened and her momentary surprise was instantly followed by suspicion. She was about to ask how he knew, but the answer came by itself, at her own realization. There was only one way he could've known that.

"You really were a guard," she said, almost resentfully.

He didn't reply and Clarke was more anxious now to leave.

But then an idea came to her. At first, it was just a small flicker, of ambition or stupidity, but it sprung up like wildfire.

"I'll get out first," the man said. His next words were cold and jagged, like broken glass. "Don't. Move."

She heard the handle creak, one hand still gripped painfully around her arm, but it was Clarke's turn to tell him to wait.

"What?" he asked, almost angrily, but she dismissed it. Her mind was whirring and though it could very easily be bad idea, Clarke was running out of options. She really hadn't had any to begin with in the first place, but she'd take what she could.

 _You owe it to your father._

Clarke stared into the pit of darkness. "How interested are you in not dying?" she asked it.


	8. Chapter Eight: Bellamy

**I'm so excited! I just can't hide it...It's so much easier to write this story now! I've got dialogue! And Bellarke...to a degree. Phase one. But I do love this. I have ideas for this story and I want to share them, but I don't want to give anything else away...Please review!**

"What?" He repeated again, furrowing his brows in distrust. The fire in Bellamy's shoulder was getting worse, until he could no longer distinguish where the pain began and where it ended. It was everywhere. His body itself had become pain, until he couldn't remember what it was like not to feel it.

Beneath that though, there was panic. Maybe even anger. No, there was definitely anger, directed at every single thing that had gone wrong with a plan that had originally been pretty basic. A part of him even marveled at his level of bad luck. Just after Bellamy had thought it couldn't get any worse... It was clear he'd spoken too soon.

"I have a proposition for you," the girl said. Her voice coming from the shadows sounded detached, as if he were talking to a ghost. As if a person weren't really there at all.

Maybe this was all in his imagination. Maybe his delirium from the bullet wound was messing with his head. Bellamy had thought he was speaking to his sister in the cryo chamber. But this was a much more sophisticated image than he would've given himself credit for. Did hallucinations have the ability to offer up deals? He supposed it really didn't matter; the knee digging into his own was enough proof that this was all very, very real.

But hallucination or not, Bellamy already had his answer.

"Not interested," he told her, grabbing for the handle. He still needed to figure out what to do with her. He doubted he'd be able to see his threat through. Killing Jaha...he felt he could justify some of it. But killing someone just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? There was no way to make that right.

"Even if it saves your life?"

"I have no reason to make deals with anyone. Especially someone like you," he hissed. "Medical training? That's enough to tell me you're an upper Station girl. Good education. Probably got whatever you wanted as a kid. And you conveniently end up in the Sky Box? What'd you do to get yourself there? Missed curfew? A dare gone wrong? Did you reject a guard?"

A moment of silence passed between them.

"Does it matter?" She finally asked. "It doesn't change the outcome that both of us will be floated, regardless of what we've done. But that infection will beat you to it. It's already made it into your bloodstream. Fever, redness, swelling. I estimate you have a few more days before you lose consciousness completely. And it seems like someone who was so desperate to do what he needed, who was willing to shoot the Chancellor to do it, has a good reason to keep himself alive."

Bellamy scrutinized the shadows, despising her assumption as if she knew him. "It's like you said," he lied. "I just had an opportunity. Did what no one else had the courage to." _If one could call it courage, to kill in cold blood._

"If that were the case, you wouldn't be hiding," she said. "Which tells me you have something else out there to live for. And I'm offering you a chance to get back to it."

Bellamy swallowed his retort. "I take it you wouldn't be helping me out of the kindness of your heart."

"No," she replied honestly. "I'd be sneaking into the med bay, which puts my life at risk. It's only fair I be given the same courtesy in return."

"I thought you said your life wasn't your priority."

"That doesn't mean I don't need to hang on to it for a little while longer."

Bellamy grimaced, feeling whatever choices he'd had slip through his fingers. He could die or, maybe, avoid it. Those were his options, and the latter only laid with this girl. If she was even speaking the truth.

"Whatever this deal of yours is...how do you know I won't just back out when I get what I want?" He asked. He wouldn't put it passed himself, after all, not if it risked his chances of making it to the ground.

The girl didn't miss a beat. "I don't. But for all _you_ know, I could be sending you into a trap."

Bellamy bristled and before he knew what he was doing, he'd shoved her farther against the wall. He felt the coolness of her skin, that felt like ice against his.

"Are you?" He asked, his voice going cold. Surprisingly cold for someone who was burning on the inside.

"No," she said, keeping herself calm. But Bellamy could detect a glimmer of fear there, tucked neatly inside that one word. _Good_. He wanted this girl to be afraid of him.

Bellamy didn't move away from her. "Fine. So you get me what I need. Fix me up. But what's in it for you?"

The tension seemed to grow more tangible, clinging to the air like the artificial humidity on Agro. He sensed her hesitancy, which made it worse.

"I need you to help me break into Jaha's quarters," she said. "Or, to be more specific, I need you to help me through the rotations to get to his door."

Bellamy felt his expression go slack, but then he scoffed, no longer able to contain his ire. "Do you take me for an idiot?" he asked, not even trying to conceal the abhorrence in his voice. "You honestly think I would agree to march up to the door of the man I shot? Right after you tell me this isn't a trap?" he shook his head in disbelief. "Now I know why you were Locked Up; you're insane."

She let out an irritated breath. "Look, I know how it sounds. But whether or not you agree to help me, you're still injured, and unfortunately for you, you don't have much of a choice if you want to live."

"I have a better chance at surviving an infected bullet wound than agreeing to your plan. Do you honestly think you can just _walk up_ to Jaha's chambers? Even if by some miracle you manage to get that far, I highly doubt it'll be unlocked."

"I know the code," she said.

Bellamy's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And how-?"

"I knew his son."

She didn't put any emphasis on the past tense, but Bellamy had a feeling it was there. He knew that Chancellor Junior had, to everyone's shock, been sent down with the rest of the One Hundred. But even more surprising than that, was the story that Wells Jaha had done it on purpose. As for his reasons behind it, those rumors stretched as far as a scared little boy wanting to get away from his authoritative daddy to doing it to protect a friend. To protect a girl.

 _Oh_.

Despite the dire situation, Bellamy couldn't stop the smugness he felt on his face. " _That's_ how," he chimed. "You're Mini Chancellor's princess."

"I have nothing to do with him," she replied sharply, almost as a snap.

"It would make sense," Bellamy went on, ignoring her outburst. "You must have been close with him if he was willing to trust you with the entrance code. I guess it's no surprise since he also deliberately got himself arrested just to get on that dropship," Bellamy added. "That was for you, wasn't it?"

A stillness fell over them. The girl went quiet, and even the sound of her breathing seemed to have stopped. "That was his mistake," she said after a minute.

"Bad breakup?" Bellamy asked in faux sympathy.

She dismissed the jeer. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Not. I don't trust you."

"You don't have to trust me," she said, lowering her voice as footsteps passed. "But you do need me."

Bellamy wanted to make some brusque comment, but when he spoke, his tone was dark. "I don't need anyone on the Ark, lastly its princess."

"And that's something that will cost you your life. But if I were you, I'd turn myself in." He could almost feel her shrug. "Floating is a less painful way to die."

Her words hung between them and a second passed. Two.

Bellamy could feel his rage mounting in his chest, at the thought of having to rely on someone to help him out of his own mess. Since he was a kid, he'd only ever taken care of his sister and himself. Before her, he'd even taken care of his mother. And just the thought of him having to depend on someone to save his own life grated on his nerves.

His lip curled in distaste, but then he thought of Octavia, on the ground, alone, possibly dead, and it was enough for him to get the word of consent passed his lips.

"Fine."

It wasn't as if she could force him to help her once he got what he wanted. As far as Bellamy was concerned, this was no more a mutual agreement than it was an offer. And it was her own fault that she chose to extend it to a criminal.


	9. Chapter Nine: Clarke

**I love these characters. Does this sound like how they'd interact? I can't lie; I'm enjoying rude Bellamy. It leaves space for character development. My favorite kind! It's also fun because this story makes me research weird things...Please review!**

Maybe the man had been right; maybe she _was_ insane.

Clarke took a steady breath, trying to listen for the sound of feet as the stranger slowly eased the locker door open and the box was flooded with a spectral light, momentarily blinding her. She blinked and looked at the man, whose brown eyes were narrowed at her in contempt.

He couldn't have been much older than her-a few years at most. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his hair. Clarke's gaze fell to his wounded shoulder. The sleeve of his uniform was stained red, some parts darker, some lighter, with varying degrees of dried and wet blood.

She leaned forward, wanting to get a better look at it. Her fingers skimmed the material.

The man jolted back. "What are you doing?"

Clarke suppressed the urge to snap at him. "I'm trying to get a clear view of your injury so I can figure out what I'll need for it. Assuming it's a bullet wound..." She peered at the soaked material again, inspecting the small hole torn through it that confirmed her suspicions. "You should be grateful the guy who shot you had such poor aim," she said.

He glared at her. "Grateful? You think I should be _grateful_ for this?"

"You could've been shot in the arm," she said, "which could have severed your brachial artery, which would have killed you in minutes."

He just moved farther away from her, a nearly impossible feat to do in the cramped spacing. "Lucky me," he said, before he pulled himself out of the storage locker, and Clarke didn't miss his grimace of pain as he moved his shoulder.

She followed suit, her senses electrifying again, too aware of everything around her, of the bleeding man swaying by her side. She was relieved that the common room was was still empty, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Come on," Clarke said, walking across the room and to the door on the opposite side of it.

He came up behind her and his hand snaked out, snatching her wrist again. At his touch, she stiffened.

"What's your plan for getting in there?" he asked, apprehension sounding in his voice.

Clarke tore out of his grip. "I'm going through the ventilation system," she said, checking the corridor before she started down it. "While you are going wait here and be as discreet as humanly possible."

"I don't take orders from you," he snarled.

Clarke drew up short, ignoring the sudden burst of annoyance she felt flare inside her. She raised her eyes to his. "Look, the only way this is going to work is if we cooperate with each other. And that entails you keeping an eye out as I steal supplies, which, need I remind you, is the only thing that is going to save your life."

Clarke saw the muscle in his jaw flex and she expected some retort; a sharp remark this man seemed so partial to, but he didn't. He just said, in bitten words, "Is there anything else that you've forgotten to mention?"

"Yeah, one other thing," she told him, giving him a final pointed look as she started back down the corridor again. "Try to stay on your feet. It wouldn't be good for either of us if you collapsed in the middle of this."

Even though she wasn't looking at him, Clarke could hear the derision in his voice, mocking, tantalizing.

"I'll do my best."

* * *

Clarke had never felt more in need of a screwdriver in her life. For the technological advancements of the Ark, the ventilation system was, in comparison, archaic, its cover still held with bolts and screws instead of magnetic locks. It took time she didn't have to pry them up with her nails. She felt them break and blood bubbled around her fingers, making her grip slick but Clarke didn't stop until the frame of the vent was off.

She peered down into the cramped tunnel, feeling her insides contract.

"Do you even know where this thing leads?" the man asked her, bending over himself until he was closer than Clarke expected. She flinched. "You just worry about the guards," she told him. "They're on their fifteen minute rotations, right? That gives me ten minutes to find my way there and five to get the supplies and make it back inside. If time runs out and I'm not back..." Clarke faltered.

"I can see you've put a lot of thought into this," he said next to her, his tone mirroring her growing doubt.

She clenched her hands. "Do you want to live or not?"

He pursed his lips into a terse line but made no further objections. "I hope for your sake that you aren't planning on stabbing me in the back," he said, as she crouched down on her knees. The small tunnel seemed to stretch longer, an endless channel with no end in sight. "You could just as easily do the same," she murmured. "Especially since you're the one with the better view of it."

He made a sound of exasperation but she ignored it, fingering the entrance to the tunnel.

"Hang on," the man suddenly said, blocking her path with his leg.

Clarke's annoyance surged, mingling with desperation and undeniable fear. They were loitering now. In the back of a corridor. If guards came around the bend, they'd be trapped.

"What?"

"If you're caught, wouldn't they put two and two together?" he asked. "What reason do you have to sneak in to the med bay? They could question you while I'm standing right outside like some painted target."

Clarke ground her teeth so hard her jaw ached. She had to agree that his logic was sound, but that didn't mean they had time for this. Already Clarke could feel her determination receding, her doubt rising above it like quicksand.

 _Do you want to die in the dark?_

Clarke stood. She snatched up one of the bolts she'd used and, with only a second of hesitation, dug it into her arm. She bit back her sound of pain as the sharp end punctured the first layers of skin. She pushed it in deeper and pulled it down, until it created a decent sized cut.

Her arm throbbing, she dropped the bolt and looked back at him expectantly. "Satisfied?"

For once, he seemed to have nothing to say.

She squared her shoulders and dropped back to the air duct, ignoring the bursts of pain that shot up her arm.

Clarke took a deep breath, and started crawling down it, the blood trickling from her arm now meeting the sheet of metal under her hands. It smeared, but Clarke kept going, breathing past the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. She glanced back, at the small window of light, of escape, before she kept going.

The duct took a sharp left and Clarke followed it like a current, trying to imagine the route that would lead to the med bay. She pictured it in her head, crawling as quickly as she could while praying the sound didn't travel to the people beneath.

Clarke paused when the duct suddenly dropped, meters below her. She craned her neck up, berating herself for the injured arm. She swallowed, but pulled herself up, biting her lip at the pain that rippled down her arm. She used her feet for leverage, and hefted herself up with her hands.

The blood wasn't helping and Clarke felt herself slip. Her back slammed against the wall and she froze, waiting for alarms, for the shouts. They didn't come, and a second passed before Clarke moved on, worming her way up, up. She could have sworn the walls were closing in, bearing down on her from all sides until she was sure she'd be crushed.

 _Keep going,_ she directed herself. She ignored the walls, pushing away the feeling of being suffocated.

When Clarke made it to the top, she spared herself a moment of relief and started shuffling down the remaining neck of air duct. Dust and grime came away on her hands, caking the farther she went.

Clarke was starting to doubt herself, wondering if maybe she'd made a mistake, cringing at the very idea of having to double back to find the right route to the med bay. There wasn't time for that, though, so Clarke forced herself farther down it, the minutes ticking away like a bomb.

A weight lifted from her chest when she caught the traces of antiseptic in the air, slowly growing stronger until it was almost pungent. It was a smell that Clarke had once been comforted by, but now it brought with it a surge of anxiety.

It wasn't until she rounded the next bend in the duct that Clarke knew she'd reached the end. Light filtered through the grated cover, the frame nailed to the surface like the other. She shuffled towards it much more quietly, hyper-aware of every creak the air duct made beneath her.

It was nearly impossible to see through the slats in the frame so Clarke was forced to go by sound, listening for voices or footsteps. None sounded, but she hesitated. _There's only one way to get in_ , Clarke thought and she almost resented offering her proposition in the first place.

Almost.

She checked for noise again. When she was sure it was still silent, Clarke raised the heel of her elbow and smashed it into the frame. It took two tries, but finally it broke off and the frame clattered to the floor. The crash of it made her flinch, but she pulled herself to the edge and peered down.

Clarke instantly regretted cutting herself. Unlike the side of the air duct she'd entered from that was ground level, this one wasn't. She could make it back up, but that didn't mean it would be an easy task. As if any of this was.

Four minutes left.

Clarke gritted her teeth and turned herself around. She lowered herself over the ledge feet-first, until she was dangling by her hands. The pain in her arm didn't allow her to get much farther and she lost her grip.

The ground rushed up and she landed hard. Fire burst up her legs and her arms, but she didn't give herself time to recover. Clarke stood up, taking in the sterile, washed out surroundings; bleak grey walls, the tables lined in a small row, the door that led to corridor that separated it from the medical lab. A guard could have already been coming. Any second, Soren could appear down the hall and see her, his gaze so hard and cold that Clarke herself would freeze over.

Trepidation gripped around her torso, making it difficult to breathe.

Three minutes.

Clarke took a step forward, moving quietly but quickly. She walked to the door and slipped through it. Clarke crossed the hall and entered the medical lab, keeping her eyes peeled for doctors or guards.

Her time dwindling, Clarke moved to the cabinets. There was a security lock that required a password and Clarke held her breath as she punched it in, praying it hand't been changed.

She heard a click, and exhaled in relief. In the cabinet, Clarke skimmed her fingers over labels, feeling sweat collect on her neck.

Two minutes.

She snatched up the Amoxicillin and a dose of an alternative drug, just in case. Another cabinet held an anti-inflammatory and Clarke grabbed that as well along with some bandages and disinfectant salve. She was wary not to take more than she needed. If only he'd allowed her a closer look at the wound. Now all Clarke had to go on was her intuition.

Heart pounding, Clarke shut it, ignoring the smear of her blood on the handle, and tried to fit the medical supplies in her pockets, even stuffing one of the doses of Amoxicillin in her shoe. Her eyes landed on a coagulant and she grabbed a packet as well. Then she crossed back to the clinic, feeling as the sweat started down her spine, beading on the backs of her legs.

One minute.

Clarke returned to the air duct, nearly a foot above her head. She reached up, feeling each second fall away with an almost audible thud. Her breathing quickened as she bounced on her feet and grasped the ledge, her injured arm screaming at the strain. Her severed skin stretched, pulling apart like torn fabric.

 _Come on,_ Clarke ordered, her determination giving way to panic. _Please._

Against her volition, her hold slipped through her fingers and she fell back, onto the cold floor. Bloody fingerprints glinted above her, illuminated by the dull, circadian lights.

Her gaze fell back towards the door. Seconds. She had seconds.

Clarke pulled herself to her feet again and groped for the ledge once more, ignoring the stinging pain as the metal bit into her fingers. She kicked her legs, trying to use the force for leverage, but her time was up. Already she could make out the faint echo of footsteps approaching.

Desperation flooded her and Clarke clawed for the opening, no longer caring about the noise she made. She needed to get out. _Out._

Her hands slipped again and Clarke couldn't help but picture the floating chamber in her mind. She saw her father's eyes looking out at her from inside the transparent doors. She imagined her own doing the same, waiting for the vacuum of space, following after a ghost.

A shudder sounded from above and Clarke watched, almost dumbfounded, as a hand sprang out from the duct and latched onto hers. Clammy, hot.

The man suddenly materialized before her, his hair, damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. His eyes bored into her and they flashed with something-hesitancy? It was just for a second, but Clarke saw it clearly, that momentary war inside him, entertaining the idea of just taking the supplies and leaving her behind.

But the medicine was in her shoe and pockets and he'd need all of her to get to it.

Clarke made no protest as he pulled her up, but at the last second, she felt something fall out, and heard it land on the floor. Clarke glanced down and swallowed. She'd dropped the coagulant.

"Move," the man suddenly snapped at her, just as a guard rounded the corner and Clarke recoiled away to avoid being seen.

It didn't matter though. Even as she followed the stranger back down the air duct, it only took another minute for the alarms to sound, shattering the stillness behind them. That crimson hue returned, instantly dousing the world in red again, and it pooled around Clarke's hands, luminescent, as if the very ship itself were bleeding.


	10. Chapter Ten: Bellamy

**My computer decided to flip out so I had to type all this on my phone and then re-type it on my iPad because my iPad decided it no longer uses the paste function. So I'm sorry if there are errors. I will edit when my computer befriends me again. Please review!**

Bellamy was struggling to see through the explosion of dots that scattered over his vision. They formed a constellation, mixing with the flashing lights until he felt as if he'd entered some other galaxy, with black stars hanging against a curtain of red.

He blinked rapidly, in an attempt to clear it but didn't slow his pace, his momentum nearly pitching him over the drop in the duct he'd had to climb up. Bellamy didn't care, though. He barely felt it.

All he could think of was the guards that were coming, and he'd decided since the moment he'd squeezed the trigger that the only way those guards would lay a hand on him, was if he were dead.

The girl lagged somewhere behind him, but Bellamy didn't look back. When he spotted the exit to the air duct, he just sped up, tripping over his hands until he reached it and pulled himself out. His arm had numbed again, possible from damaged nerves but maybe it was good the pain hadn't hit yet. It spared him the focus he needed to try and figure out escape, to find whatever semblance of freedom one could get in space.

but he drew up short, only pausing when he realized he had no idea where to go. They'd be sealing off this Station in minutes and Bellamy doubted the girl could fix him up in another storage locker. In the dark.

He turned around, just as her head popped out, face gleaming with sweat. She crawled out and rose to her feet.

"Did you get any further with that plan of yours?" Bellamy asked, having to raise his voice to be heard over the alarms.

She moved passed him, towards the only corridor that expanded out before them. "I know of a place," she shouted back.

"What place?"

But the girl was already running, and Bellamy had no choice but to follow after. He ignored the weight in his legs that threatened to pull him down. The flashing lights alone disoriented him and Bellamy stumbled, nearly losing his footing but he didn't slow. If the wailing alarms weren't enough to keep him moving, the growing sense of pounding feet and shouted orders soon would be.

They ran back down the corridors, out of Sci Gov and Bellamy breathed a small sigh of relief that it hadn't been blocked off yet. Then they were ducking back into Agro Station and he was tailing her blindly.

Now the numbness was beginning to ebb away and more stars erupted. Bellamy kept going, as they dropped down levels, away from anything that he recognized and he tried to call back the rotation times the guards would be on, but he doubted it would matter; they would've fled to Sci Gov at the sound of the alarms.

What Bellamy really wanted was to demand she tell him where they were going but he couldn't muster the strength to yell, tripping and staggering forward as they went down farther and farther, burrowing themselves beneath the underside of Agro.

Eventually the girl came to a stop and Bellamy almost slammed into her at the suddenness of it. He struggled to breathe, as he took in the door that stood before them. It was partially opened and Bellamy had the unsettling feeling that no one had been beyond this point in a very long time.

The girl didn't seem to notice, though, and she stepped forward, prying the opening back a little more, until it was wide enough for both of them to slip through.

It was one of those rare moments that Bellamy found himself speechless, like when the girl had hurt herself, and he stared at the empty room he found himself in.

"What is this place?" He asked, gazing around at the chamber. It was small, but clearly unused, indicated by the collection of grime that clung to the ground. Bellamy didn't know there was such a thing as unoccupied space on the Ark. The concept was as foreign to him as grass and blue sky.

"I came here as a kid," the girl said, looking at a malformed piece of wall that jutted inwards as if some great fist had struck this part of the ship.

"I'm surprised you were let through."

"I never said I was."

"What, did Mini Chancellor give you special access?" he quipped.

"This part of the Ark was damaged," she said, ignore the jibe. "Struck by debris. Jaha thought it wasn't safe so he sealed it off, telling the people the area wasn't secure."

"So you and Mini Chancellor thought it a bright idea to come and check it for yourselves," he replied, unbothered by the jeer in his voice. "I guess the privileged can afford to be stupid."

"Sit down," she instructed.

Bellamy grimaced at her authoritative tone but complied, his knees having gone shaky and weak long before the running.

She came up beside him, blonde hair obscuring her face as she bent down and for a second, Bellamy thought she was taking off her shoes. But she just brandished a variety of packets.

Bellamy gestured to the supplies. "What is all that?"

The girl smirked. "I didn't climb through an air duct and steal supplies just so I could poison you in private if that's what you think."

"Private," he tested the word out on his tongue. Privacy was a rare thing to come by in a ship built for over two thousand people.

"What's that?" Bellamy asked again, when he saw her pick something up.

She sighed. "This is an oral antibiotic. There's a complete round of doses here." She grabbed something else, a thin package of sorts. "Now take off your shirt."

Bellamy tensed.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You want to be treated or don't you?"

With slow movements, Bellamy pulled off his shirt, having to tug at the areas where the blood had dried and acted as a glue. This was the first time he was getting a clear view of the wound himself and it took a physical effort not to cringe at the sight.

The hole in his shoulder was painted a grotesque color, bordering on an ugly purple, with some traces of blood and pus oozing from its center. The skin around it was an irritated red, flesh puffy with swelling.

Bellamy grimaced but watched the girl skeptically as she inspected the wound.

"How bad is it?" He was almost afraid to know.

"You made it longer than most," she answered bluntly.

"Sorry to disappoint."

She uncapped something, some kind of salve, and Bellamy wrinkled his nose at the smell of it. "This may sting," she told him, a second before she touched the wound.

Bellamy bit back a curse as those stars returned. "Careful," he snapped.

"I know what I'm doing," she hissed with equal vehemence. "At least the bullet passed through," she added, her voice muffled from the throbbing pain Bellamy couldn't tear his focus from.

"Oh yeah," he sneered. "I'm _very_ fortunate."

"You are. If it hadn't gone through, it would've needed to be surgically removed, and I highly doubt you'd be as cooperative if I had to operate on you with nothing more than a crude knife and some alcohol."

He frowned, but couldn't deny that. Instead, Bellamy turned his attention back to the chamber, looking away from the wound. From the girl.

"I know how to get back here," he pointed out, allowing her to absorb the implication. _Which means I know how to get back._

She shrugged. "Something tells me you won't go sharing it with the nearest guard."

"Already presuming to know things about me, are you?" Bellamy asked, his voice curving darkly. "That's a dangerous game to play, Princess."

She met his eyes, pools of blue staring back at him. "I make it a habit not to presume anything about someone without even knowing their name first. Unlike you, it seems. But to be honest, I am getting a little tired referring to you just as _that guy_ in my head." She held out a few pills to him that he eyed cautiously before raising them to his lips. He shoved the image of foaming at the mouth and seizing out of his head.

"So do you have a name?" She asked.

Bellamy swallowed the pills without water, ignoring the scrape against his throat as they went down. He gave her a withering look. "As far as you're concerned, I am just that guy. We're not partners. I need something from you. You need something from me. After this is all over, I never plan to see you again, so why would it matter?"

Silence. And then: "I guess it doesn't." She grabbed the bandages next and unraveled the small pack of gauze. She worked quickly, efficiently, and a moment later she began wrapping his shoulder. Bellamy winced, clenching his fists at the contact.

"I'll let you rest for a little while," she said. "The antibiotics should kick in soon, but it may take a few days for you to see or feel any noticeable change. I still need to get to Alpha though, so I can't spare you more than a day."

Bellamy leaned forward. "I'm sorry, 'let?'"

"We made an agreement," she said, and he detected a shard of anger in her tone.

Bellamy discarded it, feeling curiousity, suspicion, mount in his chest. "What are you even breaking in there for? Is it really worth the trouble?"

She suddenly pulled the bandage taught, and Bellamy flinched at the burst of pain.

"That's none of your business."

He swallowed a scoff. "It is if I'm going to risk my life for it."

Already, Bellamy was trying to devise some way he could take the medical supplies and leave before she took notice. While she slept? Bellamy didn't know where he could go that would offer as much refuge as this chamber, but it was better than following after this girl and her suicidal plan. She was nuts if she honestly believed he was going to go traipsing up to a dead man's front door. The man who was dead because of him.

"I risked my life going into the med bay," the girl said.

"You wouldn't have made it out of there if I hadn't gone in after you," he deadpanned.

"You didn't come after me. You came after the medical supplies that you needed."

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and Bellamy glowered as she stared back, annoyingly calm.

"You knew what you were risking," he replied, straining, unsuccessfully, to keep the anger out of his voice. "I don't. All I know is I would be helping you break into the living quarters of the man I shot. The _sovereign_ of the Ark. You _owe_ it to me."

Disgust rose to her features and she looked up at him from having finished tying off the bandage. "I owe it to you?" She asked incredulously. "Do you want to see how long you'd last without the rest of these doses? Because I can guarantee my guess will be better than yours."

"Is it because of Chancellor Junior?" Bellamy proffered, unable to keep the edge from his tone. "Is that why you're breaking into his daddy's office?"

For the first time, the girl didn't try to hide the resentment in her gaze-that subtle fire that flashed when she looked at him. But unlike Bellamy, she could control it.

Seconds passed and he was beginning to think that she wouldn't answer. But then the girl sat back, holding the excess bandages in her lap. "I want to see someone's records, among other things."

"Whose record?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you said personal things didn't matter. We aren't partners, right?"

Bellamy glanced away but gave a curt nod. She was right. It didn't matter. None of this did. Nothing except getting himself back to the ground, and to Octavia. Had she eaten? Had she found water? Shelter? Was she even still alive?

Bellamy shoved that thought as far from him as he could. He hated not being able to do anything for her. Hated it as if it were something of actual substance. Bellamy had felt helpless in his life before, but not like this. Nothing like this.

At least when Octavia had been on the Ark, there was always this hope that perhaps he'd be able to sneak in to see her that day; to catch a glimpse of her as she was being transferred to a different cell. But he didn't even have that anymore, however frail of a hope it had been. He was on the Ark and she was on the ground, and there was nothing Bellamy could do for her over the thousands of miles that spanned between them.

But when Bellamy looked at this girl, and idea came to him. Maybe there was _one_ thing he could do here, that he couldn't do on the ground.

Bellamy's voice dropped an octave as he stared at the girl, sitting across from him. "If you made it inside, would you have access to all records?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

She scrutinized him. "Yeah. I think so."

"Could you delete records?"

Her expression grew dubious. "I don't know," she said, but it was clearly a lie.

Bellamy ignored it, already consumed by his thoughts. He knew Jaha had sworn the One Hundred reprieve for their crimes, but if Jaha were dead, there was no promise the new Chancellor would keep the word of his predecessor.

It was true that Bellamy couldn't be with his sister on the ground, but that didn't mean he couldn't still protect her.

For seventeen years, Octavia had managed to keep her existence hidden from everyone on the Ark; a brown-haired, blue-eyed secret tucked beneath the floor. But on the bad days, Bellamy had caught her wishing that she would cease to exist completely, for her life to be undone.

And now, Bellamy had the chance to do what she herself had spent those seventeen years trying in vain to do.

He could erase her.

Octavia couldn't be punished for what they had no evidence for. Sure, the Council would know of her, but if he failed to make it to Earth, or died trying, at least they would have no new evidence to tie her to. And also no proof, if Bellamy erased himself as well.

He was still staring at the girl, so deep in thought. "Fine," he said, pulling his shirt back on. "But I need to see a record, too."

She actually glared at him this time, disbelief written in her eyes. "That wasn't part of our deal."

"Well it is now," he shot back. "Take it or leave it."

"Are you forgetting which of us is the one with the medicine. Or, more importantly, who knows the correct dosage?"

"You," Bellamy nearly spat through his teeth. "All you. But that doesn't change the fact that you need my help to get whatever else it is you want inside Jaha's apartment. It's your choice, _Princess_."

The girl took a calming breath, clearly warring with his words, but Bellamy didn't seem to think she had much of a choice and apparently, neither did she.

"Okay then." She patted him on the shoulder, his injured one, and gave him a fake smile. "But it's Clarke. Not princess."

Bellamy silently appraised her, from her medical training to her relations with Wells Jaha. That she'd even been entrusted with the entry code, and he wasn't so sure.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Clarke

**I totally wrote this chapter in pieces. Or backwards. I'm so eager to get to one scene I have been so excited to write. But I can't tell you what is because of spoilers and all that. But I think it will be cool. And I believe it's, like, three chapters away. Please review!**

Clarke put as much distance the room would allow between herself and the stranger. He seemed to do the same, content with lying down in the corner farthest from her. A quietness fell over them like a blanket, but it was as hard and gelid as the floor they rested on.

Clarke didn't know when she'd manage to fall asleep, she just knew that she had when she was awoken some time later by a groaning noise. She sat up, looking across at the man who was still asleep, sweat jeweled on his forehead. He tossed, turning his head back and forth in sleep.A flurry of discombobulated words came from his chapped lips.

Slowly, Clarke crossed the room. He didn't stir at her presence, too absorbed in whatever nightmare plagued him, and she stretched out a hand and pressed it to his forehead.

The moment she touched him, the man lurched forward, his lids snapping back. Desperate eyes found hers and he grabbed her wrist, so tightly Clarke felt his nails pierce her skin. She cried out in pain, and his grip suddenly disappeared, as if he'd been burned.

"What were you doing?" he hissed, voice thick and rough with sleep.

Clarke rubbed her wrist, gauging his expression carefully. The question that had been circling through her mind before she'd fallen asleep resurfaced. Who was this man? Clarke knew he was a convict, a criminal, a killer, but those were just words. And she knew how unjustly they could be dictated to someone.

"I was-I was just checking on you." At the sound of the fear in her voice she cleared her throat. "It's time for your second dose."

He glared up at her, eyes red and weary, but fiery all the same. Clarke wondered just what he'd gone through in his life, to have a fire like that. Not one that just burned, but one that consumed. He was anger. Just sweat and blood and anger that simmered like coals in those eyes.

"Do me a favor and don't touch me when I don't know it," he admonished.

Clarke ground her teeth but pulled out the second round of Amoxicillin. "I didn't realize I needed your permission to keep you alive. Next time I'll be sure to shout across the room instead."

"Just don't surprise me," the man said, taking the pills and popping them in his mouth."I wouldn't want to accidentally kill you."

"You grabbed my wrist," she replied. "Not my throat."

His tone turned brusque. "This time, maybe. But I can't afford your life, because it will cost me mine. So I'll tell you again. _Don't surprise me."_

Clarke pursed her lips but didn't respond to him. Instead, she just retrieved the bandages, and tapped his shoulder, reaching over to tug at the material.

"What did I just say?" he asked, voice full of scorn.

But Clarke just shrugged. "You're lucid. Unless this is your way of suggesting you might still kill me."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You're clearly not a big advocate of self-preservation."

"I'm an advocate of keeping myself alive for the purpose of doing what I stayed behind to do," she said. "It's why I'm bothering with this in the first place. With you."

He leaned his back against the wall, watching her with an almost bemused look on his face. "And to think, if you weren't using me for your own gain, I might have been left to rot in storage locker. You know, until some poor kid came along and found my decomposing body."

"You're doing the same thing as I am," Clarke said, as she unwound the bandages again and waited as he took off his shirt. The bullet wound didn't look much better, but it also didn't look any worse. She discarded the used bandaged, splotched with blood, and began wrapping again.

"I wasn't accusing you," he replied, almost snidely.

"I wouldn't care if you were."

"Is the Princess mad because I added another condition to our little agreement?"

Clarke tied off the bandage and met his eyes. "Time's up," she told him, pulling herself to her feet. "We have to get to Alpha. And to answer your question," she tossed the bandages in his lap, "Maybe it was a good thing you added your condition. At least now I have actual insurance I can trust, rather than just your word."

He smirked. "And you don't trust my word?"

"Not even a little bit."

* * *

The rotations were getting easier to maneuver around. It became a system; pausing at corridors, waiting, moving to the next one, and doing it all again. Clarke remembered this game she once played, on an ancient machine that involved a small yellow creature having to avoid being caught by one of its pursuers. It was just like that, except that if they were caught, the repercussions would be greater than just a low score.

Fortunately for them both, the only Station that had been sealed was Sci Gov, and whatever guards she'd been concerned with coming after her, was evidently a marginal number. They were too hungry for the impostor, the assassin, and Clarke would've felt reassured if the very man responsible for it all wasn't just a few feet ahead of her.

When Jaha's door came into view, Clarke felt a shock of fear shoot through her. She swallowed it back.

"We have four minutes," the man said. "Can you do it in that amount of time?"

Clarke didn't hesitate. "I'm going to have to."

She approached the door and her hand started gliding over the entry code. Despite her efforts, Clarke heard Wells's voice, murmuring the numbers to her, so close she could almost feel the ghost of his breath.

There was a click as the lock came undone and Clarke stepped inside.

The familiarity of the apartment sent a wave of deja vu over her. It all looked the same, eerily undisturbed. She didn't know why, but Clarke almost expected there to be some indication of the Chancellor's current condition here; a drop of blood, a shirt stained ruby red. But there was nothing. As far as appearances went, it seemed like both Jaha and Wells would soon be back, as if one wasn't on the ground. As if the other wasn't already dead.

The moment Jaha's quarters were cleared, the man walked to the water dispenser and began guzzling it down with a cupped hand. Her own throat suddenly seemed to turn into sandpaper and Clarke allowed herself a glass, reminding herself that she wouldn't be able to help her people if she were died of dehydration.

But a moment later, she was moving towards the office, and the holographic computer embellished in the heavy desk. Clarke had only ever been in here once, with Wells in secret. It hadn't been a secret for long, though, as Jaha had caught them. But Jaha wasn't here now, and the only persons she had to worry about were clad in black and armed.

She pulled up the screen, and an authorization code materialized on its face. This didn't require that much security and Clarke followed her gut, typing in Wells's date of birth.

There was a flash of green and the code vanished. Clarke let out a small breath of relief.

She was about to look up what she'd come here for, when a hand dropped to her shoulder stopping her. It wasn't a gesture of reassurance from the man. Clarke knew that just by the pressure of it, and the force he used to hold on to her.

"No, you're going to pull up the record I want first," he demanded.

Clarke didn't have time to argue with him, but her voice turned cold. "Name?"

"Octavia Blake."

Clarke mulled over the name. Blake. It didn't sound familiar; clearly, it didn't belong to someone from her Station. She punched it in, fingers skimming over the computer's pellucid surface.

A second later, the picture of a girl came up, dark hair framing bright eyes.

Clarke looked over at the man. "Is this her?"

He nodded. "Delete it."

It took a moment to find the actions that would do as he asked, and then the image of the girl disappeared, replaced by an empty folder. _Record not found._

"Now mine."

Clarke glared back at him, feeling something almost like panic expand inside her. "No, I need-"

"I don't care what you need," he snapped. "Delete my file or I alert the guards."

Anger rippled through her and Clarke momentarily entertained the idea of him doing exactly that. But she couldn't afford to be caught. Not when the truth hovered just beneath her fingertips.

She returned her gaze back to the screen. "I'm going to need to know your name then," she said, voice

A breath.

"Bellamy Blake."

Clarke paused. There was that last name again, but she knew the girl couldn't possibly be the man's mother. Which left only one possible answer. Clarke's thoughts evaporated and her eyes went to him again. "But...that would make you-"

"Octavia's brother. Now delete it."

Brother. Sister. Those words were rare on the Ark. Impossible. Dangerous. Over the span of ninety seven years, they had become a fairy tale. What would it be like, Clarke wondered, to be so close to someone? To have a friendship that ran as deep as blood?

Clarke shook the thought away and pulled up his file, somewhat taken aback when she found his eyes, staring back at her from the screen. He was all hard features and hard lines, as if his expression had been carved from stone. But there was an echo of a smile engraved around his mouth, revealing to Clarke that regardless of his circumstance, he'd still found a reason to laugh.

It only took two actions to erase it completely.

With that out of the way, Clarke felt her eagerness pique as she typed in what she wanted to know. What had killed her father to know. Information on the air supply.

But a beeping sounded. flashing a warning that required a password to bypass. Clarke felt her heart jump and she tried whatever access code Jaha may have had. The date of his wife's death? Wells's full name? But those were too obvious and Clarke's desperation and fear transformed into unbridled anger. She was _this close._

"Hurry up," the man-Bellamy-said. She had to remind herself that he had a name now.

Clarke knew she was running out of time, so instead, he turned to the last thing she wanted. Details on her father's conviction. She typed in his name, feeling the weight of each letter fall heavier than the last. It took a second for the report to appear and when it did, the image of her dad made something twist inside her.

Though he wasn't smiling, she could see the laugh lines under his eyes, that familiar light inside them. How had she forgotten that? It had been only six months. Would there come a day when the memory of him seemed faded? Would the sound of his voice disappear in time? But then Clarke remembered that she might not have that time and for a second, she was grateful for it. At least there was no forgetfulness in death.

She started skimming the report, very aware of the man beside her, exchanging cursory glances between her and the door. Clarke blocked it out.

 _Jake Griffin,_ she read, _Found guilty...Arrested for treason...Executed October 8th..._

She went down further, trying to push away the flashbacks as she continued.

... _Floated at 06:00...Abby Griffin..._

Clarke froze. very joint in her iced over, cutting so deep until even the blood chilled in her veins. She leaned forward, stopping just inches from the screen, and read the report again. She re-read it. A third. But Clarke couldn't make sense of it, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't even see it clearly anymore; the ice had spread to her eyes, misting over her vision.

 _Treason. Brought to the attention by Abby Griffin..._

No.

Distantly, Clarke became aware of someone calling to her, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except for her mother's name, typed too closely to Jaha's with the word "informed" fitting neatly between them.

 _Abby Griffin informed Chancellor Jaha._

 _Brought to the attention by Abby Griffin._

 _Jake Griffin arrested for treason._

 _Jake Griffin floated at 06:00._

Abby Griffin turned him in.

 _Abby Griffin turned him in._

"Hey!"

Numbly, she turned her head and focused her eyes on the man,-Bellamy. Alarm rang in his voice and he was urging her to get up, to leave, but Clarke couldn't move. If she tried, the ice would break and she would shatter.

But he was already haling her to her feet, shoving her away from the screen, the report, those terrible words that whispered such dark things to her.

 _My mother turned him in. My mother killed my father._

"Move!" Bellamy pushed her roughly and Clarke's mind suddenly went on autopilot, her body walking across the room and towards the exit. Her steps felt robotic as she slipped through the door and down the corridor, all the while those whispers echoing, repeating, screaming in her ears;

 _My mother killed my father. He's dead because of her._


	12. Chapter Twelve:Bellamy

**WE HAVE A SEASON 3 RELEASE DATE! WOO. I'm fine. Anyway...This fanfiction is already a hundred pages long. Coincidence? I think not! Is the exchange still realistic? I really enjoy writing Bellamy and Clarke's interaction because I can make Bellamy as mean as he is in season one which causes tension. Woo. It leaves much opportunity for disagreement. Which means angst. I love angst. (Not my angst, I'm not sadistic.) And I love how right now, they're just using each other. XD Please review!**

The girl had fallen quiet, her expression dazed and hollow. It was unsettling to Bellamy, who sat away from her in the storage chamber, sneaking curious glances her way. Bellamy knew she'd found something at Jaha's, which was evident in the paleness of her face, as if all the blood had just been leeched from her cheeks.

"See something you didn't like, Princess?" he asked mockingly, minutes later. He simpered. "You better get used to that feeling. You're not one of the privileged anymore."

Clarke looked at him, and he wasn't prepared for the haunted look he saw in her eyes. "Privileged...Tell me, is it a privilege to see your own father get floated?"

Bellamy faltered. But then he shrugged. So she wasn't a stranger to pain. She'd mourned the loss of someone; had felt their absence as if it had been carved from the heart and for a second, Bellamy was a good enough person to sympathize with her. But then that second was gone and he said, "Most of us have lost someone. I hate to break it to you, but you're nothing special. That's just how it works. For a lot of people."

Clarke smirked, but there was no humor in her features. "How about when you find out it was your own mother who got him executed?" she asked, toying absentmindedly with her wristband. "And that the person you did blame for it, sacrificed everything for you, only to realize that you weren't on the ground with them? And that it had all been for nothing?" she looked at him expectantly. "Is that how it works, too?"

Again, Bellamy felt that surge of empathy. Once, when he was younger, Bellamy had overheard his mother, in a moment of weakness, whisper words of regret about Octavia. Even as an adult now, he still couldn't understand how someone could say such a thing. They were wishes spurred by fear, but that didn't make them right. And that didn't make them anymore welcome in his world.

"Why are you telling me this?" Bellamy finally asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "I thought we agreed not to share anything personal."

"Because it needs to be real," she confessed. "And telling someone makes it real. The only other person who knows besides my mom and now me might be dead. I want someone to know, even if it's someone I don't actually like."

This girl was confusing. Strange, if not a little bewildering, but Bellamy would go along with it. For now. "Fine," he breathed. "I'll humor you. Why do you think your mom did it?"

Clarke peeled her head from the wall she'd been leaning against and met his eyes. "My dad knew something. About the Ark. About everyone. He thought people had the right to know it, but my mom thought it would cause a panic and do more harm than good. Simply put, my dad was executed for wanting to do the right thing."

"Is that why you didn't get on the dropship?"

She pulled her knees up and tucked them beneath her. "I'm my father's daughter. I won't have his death be in vain."

For once, Bellamy could appreciate this.

"Brave Princess," he mumbled. Or perhaps she was just stupid. His tone suddenly turned flat. "This secret of yours...is it really worth dying for?"

Clarke sighed. "Maybe not. If it was just my life on the line. But this is bigger than me and to stand back and let it fall apart, would just make me a coward." Her eyes instantly grew distant, haunted by some ghost he couldn't see. "And my father wouldn't be proud of a coward."

"So what now?" Bellamy asked, switching topics. She clearly didn't want to speak of her dad and he didn't try to push it. Why he suddenly felt respectful of boundaries, he didn't know. Sure, over the last few days, this girl had saved his life. But she'd also pissed him off along the way. He owed her nothing.

Her gaze snapped back to him and her expression turned stony. "Now? You're off the hook. You made good on our deal. We're done. You can leave whenever you want."

Bellamy felt oddly taken aback. But she was right of course; they were finished.

He shrugged. "Unfortunately for you, I have nowhere else to go. My destination is about a couple thousand miles beneath me and currently I have no method of getting there." His voice was jeering, but there was a tangible heaviness in his chest.

She peered at him curiously. "You were trying to get on the dropship for your sister, weren't you?"

There was little reason to hide it anymore and even though he tried to brush it off, he felt that nagging obligation to share something after what she'd just told him. "I've always protected her," he said it quietly, but he could tell she'd heard him.

Clarke gazed back at him almost appreciatively. "If you were just trying to get on the dropship, why did you shoot Jaha?"

The feeling of obligation vanished and resentment bubbled up inside Bellamy. He pinned her with a look. "You have your secrets, " he murmured, "I have mine."

She raised her shoulders. "Fair enough."

Bellamy crossed his legs, careful not to move his shoulder too roughly. It still hurt, but the agony had been reduced to a dull throb. "So tell me, Princess, what do you plan on doing next? After all, if so many lives depend on you like you claim, why are you still sitting around in a storage chamber?"

He didn't expect her to answer so forwardly, but as Bellamy was beginning to understand, she didn't do what he thought she would. This girl had a knack for the unpredictable. A propensity for the insane.

"The folder I wanted from Jaha's was locked," she replied. "I need to get the information from someone else."

Bellamy's eyebrows knitted in suspicion. "And how do you think you'll manage that? The only ones who have access to anything confidential are members of the Council. Are you involved with one of them, too?" He didn't meant for his voice to sound so caustic, but it did.

Clarke didn't rise to the bait, instead his words seemed to deflate her. "Even worse. I'm related to one who used to be a member."

Bellamy felt his eyes widen and disgust bloomed inside him. But he had to remind himself that it wasn't her fault who she was born to; Bellamy knew that better than anyone, other than his sister.

"The medical training..." He pieced it together and then eyed her conspicuously. "...Griffin?"

She gave a small nod.

"Your mother is Abby Griffin?" Bellamy couldn't quite keep the disbelief-the accusation-from his tone. "The Chief Medical Officer?"

No reply was necessary.

Bellamy let out a scoff, of incredulity and something close to disappointment. "You really are a princess, aren't you?"

Rich family. Privileged family. She'd even been locked up like the damsel in distress that belonged in the stories Bellamy had whispered to Octavia when she was a little girl.

Clarke pursed her lips but she didn't break from his gaze. "I know you think that. And maybe you're right. Some Station residents do unfairly get better opportunities than others. But I won't let you make me feel bad about where I come from. Not when I have my mom to remind me of it."

Moments of silence filtered between them as Bellamy studied her. "If you're looking for someone to feel sorry for you," he finally said, "I'm not that guy."

"Then it's a good thing I wasn't looking for that."

Bellamy drew a long breath, still not taking his eyes from hers. "So, you plan to go and face your mom, get what you need, and then what? You think that'll be it? If your mom was willing to turn in your dad, what makes you think she won't do the same to you?"

Maybe it was harsh. Maybe even cruel, but the words were out before Bellamy could stop them. He didn't even bother trying to.

But it didn't seem to anger her. Clarke's gaze just drifted away from him and landed on the ruined wall a few meters away. "Nothing," she whispered, and this time, Bellamy heard a crack in her voice. The first chink in this girl's otherwise meticulous armor. "I have no idea what my mom is capable of anymore."

Bellamy's eyes fell to his hands. There was that second of sympathy again and this time, it stuck around for a few more. When it had overstayed its welcome, Bellamy shoved it as far away from himself as he could. Sympathy on the Ark, for him, was a weakness. And any weakness here was death.

But he still pulled out a small packet of water he'd stolen from Jaha's. In one fluid movement, he sent it sliding across the floor to Clarke. It touched her foot and she glanced at it before her eyes went to him again.

"Your apartment may be guarded," he told her. "I'll help you get there, but only if you help me find some way of getting to the ground. I figure an ex-Council member is a good place to start."

Clarke stared at him quizzically, brows drawn in deliberation but it only took her a few moments to agree. Whether Bellamy liked it or not, the girl hadn't spent all her usefulness, and clearly, neither had he.

"But," his voice turned low and warning. "If you tell your mom about me, I will make good on my threats."

If Clarke was scared, she didn't show it. Instead, a sad smile played at the corners of her lips. "I already assumed that. _Bellamy Blake._ "


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Clarke

**Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! It was yesterday's yesterday, so...belated Thanksgiving. Also, I did change the title. But here's the next chapter! I just feel inclined to say that I hate Abby. I mean, she's a good doctor but can we all just appreciate the irony of her saving the life of the man who sentenced her husband to death? That she was willing to break the rules by giving him extra morphine, yet she wouldn't do the same for her husband by trusting him? I have a problem with Abby. Sorry. That's all. Please review!**

"They're on fifteen minutes rotations again," Bellamy informed her. "It's protocol. That gives you about five minutes to get in and out with what you need. That is, unless your mom decides to..." he trailed off and something painful blossomed across Clarke's chest, hot like a fresh wound. _Unless your mom decides to turn you in._

They stood just outside the corridor, backs pressed firmly to the wall as they watched two guards disappear around the bend and through the entrance to Alpha Station. Two days had passed since the break in. Though Clarke had been ready to go straight back to Alpha, it had been insisted by Bellamy to give it some time, to ensure it was relatively safe before returning to Alpha.

Now that she was so close to it, her heart pounded against her ribcage and Clarke was struggling to breathe. She still felt numb from the report of her father, but she had begun to thaw. Those whispers had ceased their chattering and though the abyss had risen inside her, hungry and threatening to devour her entirety, Clarke had managed to push it down. She still felt the truth of it, though, the echo of those thoughts chiming from somewhere deep inside.

 _My mother killed my father._

She'd waited for the impact of it to hit her. Had waited to accept what every kiss, every embrace between her parents contradicted. But it hadn't struck her until they'd left the chamber that perhaps she already had.

Bellamy pushed her forward, knocking her out of her musing. "Go," he ordered.

Clarke complied, turning down onto the corridor after the guards. She held back to make sure they were out of earshot before continuing on, through the Alpha's entrance. It was the same way they'd gone to get to Jaha's but it felt different this time and Clarke couldn't help but wish she was just breaking in to another dead man's chambers again. At least it would've been easier.

She came to a stop at the next turn. Just beyond it was the door to her apartment and she felt the presence of it, like a physical weight settling on her shoulders.

"I'll be your look out," Bellamy told her, and ushered her around the bend.

Clarke took a shaky breath but walked towards it. She punched in the same entry code just as she'd done a million times before, but this time, she didn't feel like a girl coming home. She felt like an intruder.

Clarke eased the door open, quietly, and stepped inside. Turning around, she felt the breath in her chest still as she stared at the apartment, no inch devoid of some memory, of her father, of her mother. Together. Happy. Now every one of those was tainted, stained red with his blood.

Clarke suddenly found it hard to stand, as she looked towards her father's office. She could almost convince herself that any second now, he would appear in the hall. That he'd flick on the projector and the sound of old Dallas Cowboys reruns would fill the room. She could clearly see him standing in the kitchen, staring out of the small window to a sea of stars.

The ghost of him was everywhere, in the impression of his favorite chair, the ugly scratch on the table from a razor he'd used to help her with a class project. The chip in the flooring, where he'd dropped a plate.

It hurt more that his absence wasn't as obvious as it should be, their home still lying in wait of his return. But Clarke still glimpsed hints of his neglect. The cup he'd used every morning was coated in a thin layer of dust.

Clarke thrust the images away. _Five minutes,_ she reminded herself and she started for the kitchen first, pulling out a few protein packets. Then she moved down the hall to her father's study. It was unlocked and Clarke entered silently, careful as if there were someone inside to be disturbed.

It was cleaner than she remembered it being, the usual plethora of papers stacked neatly in a pile. Her eyes landed on something on the desk and instinctively, Clarke's hand wrapped around it. Her father's watch. She'd worn it in place of the wristband that was now cuffed to arm, but it had been confiscated. Sh swallowed, and shoved it in her back pocket.

Clarke returned to the papers and rifled through them before moving onto the drawers. Inside one was a tablet and she grabbed it. She tucked it beneath her arm and kept searching through the remaining drawers. She went through the papers again.

Nothing. There was nothing here on the air supply, but there was a storage locker, on the opposite wall opposing the desk. Clarke went to it and laid her hands over the small panel of letters and numbers. She mentally sifted through every password she could think of. Her birthday. Her mother's. Names. Special occasions. His favorite NFL player. But the lock flashed red at every incorrect input.

Clarke hissed out a breath, wracking her brain for any possibility.

But the sound of an opening door made her freeze in her tracks.

The air left her lungs in an instant and Clarke didn't know when the shaking had started. But she felt the tremors in her hands now, quivering over the locker panel. She knew that she was trapped, cornered like a rat between the study and the other room. She rested her back against the wall and spared herself a second. Just one second, until she opened them again and stepped out of the study.

Her mother stood by in the living room, one hand on her hips, the other running through her hair. It was dishelved and her clothes seemed to hang more loosely from her body, causing something inside Clarke to pinch. But then her mother's eyes found hers, and the feeling disappeared.

Stunned silence enveloped them and for a moment, Abby could only stare, with lips parted in shock. She blinked, not quite trusting her eyes. "...Clarke?" she murmured quietly, as if scared the sound of her voice would chase her away.

Clarke didn't smile. She didn't step up to give her mom a hug. She didn't even offer up an explanation. Instead she just stayed where she was.

Her mother repeated her name. Again and again. Then she moved towards her and Clarke drew back.

"It's not safe for you here," Abby said, casting a glance at the door.

"There's..." Clarke cleared her throat. "There was just something here I needed."

"I'm sorry, I received the report that you hadn't gotten on the dropship. Why? You know what..." her voice dropped to a low whisper. "You know what's happening here."

Clarke nodded. "That's why I stayed," she answered in a monotone, meeting her mother's gaze head on. "I came to get what you have on the air supply."

That silence returned.

"Clarke..." Abby's eyes turned distant and her tone suddenly became diplomatic. Once a Council member, always a Council member. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I can't give that to you." Her hands reached for Clarke as if to embrace her but she took a step back.

"Don't come anywhere near me," Clarke practically spat, her voice venomous. Warning.

Her mom looked stricken, staring back at her with an expression of pain and confusion. "Clarke, Honey, why are you-?"

"I wanted to believe that you couldn't have betrayed Dad," Clarke whispered, the corners of her eyes pricking with unshed tears. "You have no idea how much I wanted to believe that."

The confusion lining her mother's features instantly evaporated, replaced by realization that was quickly followed by horror. "Clarke-"

"But I know what you did," Clarke continued. "Don't you _dare_ pretend anymore. I know that you turned Dad in. Wells let me think that he did it, so I'd hate him instead of you." Her vision blurred as she stared at Abby. Her mother. A stranger. "How could you? How could you do that?"

Abby tried to come closer, but it was as if some invisible force kept pulling Clarke away from her. She didn't want to be touched by her. Could barely manage to stay in the same room.

"Oh, Baby," her mom breathed, voice catching. "That-that wasn't supposed to happen. Jaha was supposed to talk him out of it."

But Clarke just shook her head. _No._ She would not let her mother escape the accountability for this. "Dad's dead because of you," she said, and the words broke. They splintered into a million fragments, sharp as glass. If anyone tried to put them back together again, they'd be cut.

"Honey," her mom murmured softly. "Listen to me-"

"No, I am done talking to you!" Clarke hissed, her voice barely below a shout. "I just came here to get what I needed."

Though she'd started to cry, her mother's tone was even. "I can't, Clarke. I'm sorry."

But Clarke hadn't come this far to leave empty handed. She hadn't given up the ground just to give up on the Ark.

"That's exactly what you're going to do," she said, and her voice was unwavering, as cold as the ice running through her veins. "Because if you don't, I'll go to the guards. I'll turn myself in. And then you'll have no one."

Clarke watched as the blood drained from her mother's face, sapping the color from her cheeks. "You wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, well I used to think that you'd never hurt Dad. But it turns out the people you love are capable of surprising things."

"Clarke-"

"Just give it to me!" she practically yelled, ignoring the pain mounting in her chest, making it hard to breathe. "If you ever loved Dad, please just do that much. You owe him that. You owe _me_ that. Or I swear I'll do it."

Two heartbeats. Clarke heard the roar of blood in her ears; felt the quaking of her hands fisted at her side but she didn't look away.

Maybe she saw the seriousness in her daughter's voice; heard the truth radiate from it because she stepped around Clarke, and walked towards the office. She returned a moment later, clutching some kind of hard drive in her hand. She extended it to Clarke. "If you use this in any way," she said, not yet letting the object go. "Then your father's death will have been for nothing."

Fury erupted in Clarke, but it diminished as quickly as it had come, like water tossed onto a burning flame. She took the hard drive and gripped it in her hand, the small piece digging into her palm. "No," she said quietly. "Dad died trying to do the right thing. The honorable thing. And the only person who can be blamed for the outcome is you."

Abby's lips pursed into a thin line at that.

"And one more thing," Clarke added, remembering her side of the deal. "I need to know if there's another way to the ground. Another dropship."

Her mother stared at her and Clarke could clearly see the questions burning in her eyes, and above that, the hurt. But Clarke couldn't bring herself to sympathize with her. Abby Griffin had lost the right to that hurt the moment she'd notified Jaha behind her husband's back.

"Why?" her mother asked.

"That's none of your concern."

"Clarke, I know you think I-"

But Clarke just waved off her words. "It doesn't matter what I think. It only matters what happened, not what should have happened. Now do you know another way to the ground or not?"

Abby hesitated. "There's a pod. In Mecha. I have someone working on it."

"Planning a one-way trip to Earth yourself?"

"We haven't received word from the One Hundred," her mother admitted. "We lost the radio feed in the landing."

 _Are they dead?_ Clarke wondered, but it wasn't until a moment later she realized she'd spoken the question aloud.

"I don't know," Abby answered. "For our sake, they better not be."

Clarke looked at her mother in disbelief, lip curling in disgust. "For your sake? What about for theirs? Jaha sent them to the ground to die. He sent me there to die."

"It was their only chance, Clarke. Criminals on the Ark...they would've been floated."

Clarke bit her lip, so hard until she tasted blood. "They weren't just criminals, Mom. There were kids. The Council sentenced kids! It wasn't about giving them a chance. It was about the Ark not having enough air, so you thought you could extend its duration by getting rid of a hundred people and make it look like an opportunity for them."

Abby's expression turned somber. "We had no choice."

"No, there's _always_ a choice," Clarke shot back. "cNo one makes them for you."

"You don't understand, Clarke. The Council had to do what was best for everyone. It's _all_ our lives at stake here."

"Oh, I understand that. What I don't understand is how you could decide whose lives were expendable and whose were not."

For that, Abby faltered. She looked as if she were object, but then she shook her head. "There's something I need to ask you, Clarke," she said, dismissing her daughter's words. "The med bay...dosages of Amoxicillin went missing, along with some other supplies. They were medications to treat infection." Her voice hardened. "There were no visible signs of forced entry besides the air duct. And the only person who would have known the combination to the lock is you."

Clarke kept her face neutral. "What are you implying?"

"If you're helping that criminal-"

"The medical supplies was for me," Clarke interjected. "No one else."

 _I will make good on my threats._

Abby scrutinized her, brows pulled together in doubt. "I wish I could believe you."

Clarke swallowed the urge to scoff. "Then you should prepare yourself for disappointment."

Abby tried to say something else, but Clarke knew her time was strained. She couldn't afford another second. Her minutes had devolved into mere seconds and she couldn't risk any more of them. Not that she was eager to stick around anyway.

There was nothing else she could say to her mom; there was nothing that could encompass all her disappointment, the anger...the simple revulsion she felt at being related to such a person. Clarke didn't want to be here a second longer and everything inside her suddenly screamed at her to get out of this place. It wasn't home anymore.

Hard drive in hand, she turned to leave.

"Clarke," her mother called, and against her better instinct, Clarke paused in front of the door, her palm pressed to the face of it. Maybe Bellamy had been right; maybe she was going to keep her from leaving.

But Abby just whispered in a pained voice, "I lost him, too."

Clarke tried to breathe past the pain in her chest that was now dulling to a distant throb. "You didn't lose Dad," she said. "You gave him up."

Then without one last look at her mom, she slipped out the door and let it close quietly from behind.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Bellamy

**Pleeeease review, Guys! I swear I have more action waiting. And yes, I do include quotes from the TV show. Sometimes I just mix it up so kudos to whoever picks up on them. :)**

They made it back to the storage chamber unseen. Bellamy's hair clung to his forehead and he wiped at it with his sleeve, out of breath from the run. From the fear of being spotted. Luckily for them both, they hadn't been, but they had come far closer than his liking.

Bellamy went over to the supplies he'd collected from Jaha and took a long sip from one of the water packets. Then he leaned against the wall, letting the steel cool his damp back. He looked at Clarke.

Bellamy had already taken notice of her state-the glistening of her eyes, the tangible sadness that hung on the air around her. But she didn't cry, and for some reason, Bellamy felt almost proud of her for it.

The feeling quickly evaporated the longer he watched her, her gaze transfixed on her hand. She held something in it, something small he couldn't make out, but he thought he caught sight of an object- compact and silvery.

"What's that?" he asked, gesturing to it with a nod of his head.

Clarke seemed to suddenly notice him. She took a seat on the floor and pulled out a tablet. "I'm about to find out," she murmured, as she inserted what Bellamy now saw was a hard drive. The translucent screen suddenly lit up, bathing Clarke in a spectral glow.

Bellamy crept forward, whether out of curiosity or suspicion, he didn't know. "I can't afford you privacy," he said, when he realized he'd come closer than intended.

But Clarke seemed unfazed. "It isn't my secret anymore. It never should've been one from the start."

Bellamy wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but then she pressed something on the tablet's surface, and a set of files appeared at her fingertips.

Bellamy leaned closer.

 _(Most Recent) Current Life Support status-July 5th, 2148._

"What is this?" Bellamy asked, casting a look at Clarke she couldn't see. But her attention was on the small image of someone, and she enlarged it. Sandy hair Light eyes filled the screen. Bellamy watched Clarke as she raised a hand, fingers hovering over the face of the man, as if she wished she could reach through and touch him.

Sound came over the small speaker, and a deep voice broke out around them.

 _"My name is Jake Griffin,"_ the man said, and Clarke inhaled sharply.

 _"I'm the Senior Environmental Engineer and Deputy Resource Officer. Today, I need to talk to you about our future."_ He clasped his hands before him. _"The things I need to tell you are serious. The Ark... is dying. This city in space that has been our sanctuary has approximately one year left, before our air reserves are gone. Time is running out. this is an undeniable reality, but we have pledged our lives to make sure that humanity does not share that fate. Now, while there is still time, we must come together and face this crisis head on. I believe it will bring out the best in us-our strength, our humanity, our faith,-that we will come together in this time of uncertainty."_

 _"Dad?"_ A familiar voice sounded and the man abruptly shifted away from the screen. The video ended there, the image frozen with his face turned in the direction of the voice; a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"I walked in on him when he was filming this," Clarke whispered, so quietly Bellamy barely heard. "It was just before he was arrested."

Bellamy shot her a pitying look and was instantly glad she hadn't seen it. He didn't take her as a girl who welcomed pity.

Bellamy looked back to the screen, still holding the picture of her father, and he shook his head. "What does that mean, the Ark is dying?" Though he asked it, Bellamy already knew. He'd heard the same thing she had, and now, her earlier words made sense. _It's not my secret anymore. It should have never been one from the start._

"So everyone on the Ark is going to die? Is that what he's saying?" Bellamy knelt beside her. "Is that why they sent my sister to the ground? As a method of _disposal?_ "

Clarke didn't say anything for a moment, as she continued to stare at the tablet. "My Dad originally thought it was a glitch in the system, but the more he looked into it...Life support on the Ark is almost empty. My Dad estimated we had around a year, but-" she exited out of the image and selected a different file. Columns of words unrolled at her touch.

Bellamy caught those same words again, _(Most Recent) Current Life Support status-July 5th, 2148,_ along with a long list of others.

 _Status-April 5th, Status-May 5th, Status-June 5th._ The last documented entry had been in July. "What does this mean?" Bellamy growled, hating his own ignorance. This went beyond just him reaching his sister. This was the inevitable reality of the Ark's condition. And it was fatal.

"Oh no," Clarke said, the words just brushing past her lips. Bellamy looked at her. "Oh no, what?"

Clarke seemed to struggle with her voice before she managed to find it again. "My Dad...He overestimated the Ark's lifespan by three months. The One Hundred...they won't be enough."

Bellamy stared at the crown of her head and something in her words made inexplicable fear trickle down his spine. "So what are you saying? What's the Council going to do about it?"

Clarke looked up at him and this time, he could see the horror in her eyes, refracting in azure blue. "A culling."

Bellamy blanched. A culling. Selective murder. Mass murder. Death to the non-essentials, like tossing out extra cargo. He just looked at her in silence, unable to keep the revulsion off his face. "So they're just going to kill people in cold blood?" he asked, his tone deathly calm. "Line us up like pigs to slaughter." His voice grew louder then, until the sound of it was echoing off the chamber walls. "Will they float us in five's? Ten's? Let me guess who will be the first ones to go?"

"Bellamy, listen to me," Clarke said, having to raise her own voice for him to hear her.

He glared back at her. "You know, your mom's a real piece of work."

She visibly flinched at that and Bellamy felt a prickle of guilt. He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I didn't mean-"

"You're right," Clarke deadpanned. "But this isn't her doing. This will be the Council's."

"And who do you think will be their target?" Bellamy challenged, nearly shouting again. "I can guarantee you it won't be Council members. It will be working people. _My_ people," he spat the words at her.

But Clarke was looking at him differently now. Still solemn, the air around them charged with tension, but something sparked in her eyes. "Yes. They'll be floated against their will. Unless we give them a choice."

Bellamy felt the confusion register on his face. "What are you talking about?"

Clarke held up her hand, brandishing the small silver of metal that flashed dully in the low-light. "We can show them what they're up against," she said."And we can have them decide."

Bellamy stared at her. Emotions ran rampant inside him. Fury. Surprise. And something that felt remarkably close to respect, for this seemingly privileged girl, that hadn't been privileged in a very long time.

"But we don't have the equipment to send out that feed," he pointed out.

Clarke smirked. "My Mom mentioned someone. I think they could help."

But Bellamy was already shaking his head. He didn't quite trust Clarke, not completely anyway, and contrary to what he used to think, her family relations were not something to be marveled at. "Sorry I don't feel overeager to trust your mother," he said bitterly.

She sighed. "You want a way to the ground, though," she reminded him, as if the hole in his chest wasn't enough. "This just might be how you get there."

Bellamy stilled. "You know of another way to the ground?"

Clarke nodded. "A pod. My Mom has someone working on it."

Something warm expanded over Bellamy, something dangerously close to hope. "Like repairs? ...But wouldn't that mean it's in Mecha?"

She nodded again. "It is. I think Sci Gov is still in lock down and if not, it's heavily guarded. We'd have to go through the other Stations to get there. It'll be harder, but-"

"No," Bellamy interrupted. He was already devising his own plan, recalling his time spent as a guard; the places it had given him access to. The secrets the advantage of a uniform had gotten him. And he came to the conclusion right then and there that if this girl was insane, he was worse.

She'd started to say something else but Bellamy cut her off again. "I have an idea."

* * *

"No," Clarke said, her voice rigid. Even commanding. "We can't do that, Bellamy."

"If we go around there's no way we'll make it without being caught. And you know I'm right." Bellamy had processed his idea so quickly that he was certain it was reckless. Stupid. Quite possibly suicidal. But it also happened to be their only shot at making it to Mecha.

Yet Clarke still refused, shaking her head adamantly. "I tell you that the Ark is dying and your initial thought is to waste even more air? And that's not even expounding on fact that neither of us would know _what we're doing._ "

"I've overseen at least a dozen spacewalks," Bellamy told her. He could clearly remember the mechanics suiting up and waiting inside an air-locked chamber before it opened. Every time, he'd half expected them to plummet over the edge, but they were just swept up by some invisible current, and out into nothing. "Mecha is just on the opposite side of Sci Gov. That's two minutes of air. Three tops."

Clarke gazed back at him, her eyes hard and unyielding. "We can't."

Bellamy felt a surge of annoyance and stepped towards her. When he spoke, it was cold. "I'm not really asking for your permission, Princess."

She matched his tone. "So you're willing to risk someone else's life just to take a shortcut to Mecha? Do you honestly want more blood on your hands?"

Bellamy didn't back down but the accusation was sharp-edged and its cut was deep. No, he didn't want anyone else to bleed so that he could live, but people would still die. That was something that couldn't be helped.

"This isn't up for negotiation," he told her. "If you want to take your chances taking the long route, then so be it. But my way is your best bet of getting that message on every screen. I can handle a little blood on my hands, but can you?"

In this moment, her walls were down and he could clearly see the hesitation lining her features; worrying the edges of her mouth.

Bellamy spread his arms in exasperation. "The air will run out one way or another. And the Council will do what it wants, just like it always has. But if you're caught, that message will be destroyed and you'll be floated. Then everything you've risked here, for your Dad, for everyone aboard, will mean absolutely _nothing._ "

Fear and denial warred in her eyes and Bellamy could practically see the gears in her mind working, scrounging to conjure an alternative solution. He didn't know her well, but he had seen the way this girl calculated things. She took the time to weigh her options. The type of person who thought about her words before she spoke them.

But she could contemplate this all she wanted; that didn't change their predicament.

"The suits are kept in Mecha,"she said, searching for another way out that simply wasn't there.

Bellamy couldn't stop the smugness that crept into his tone, for once being the supplier of new information. "That's where you're wrong again, Princess. There's two in a maintenance depository in Tesla."

Clarke shook her head, rattling her blonde curls. But it wasn't an action of denial. It was one of defeat. "I don't think the expression 'go float yourself' was ever meant to be taken so literally," she quipped.

Bellamy shrugged, feeling somewhat invigorated by his insane plan, like that shot of adrenaline before the inevitable fall. "The worst case scenario is we die a painful death, waste air for nothing, and consequentially float half the residents of this ship," he said.

Clarke gave him an appalling look. "And the best case scenario?"

His sudden anticipation diminished, replaced by a huge weight that fell on his shoulders and fused with every bone in his body. "That we don't."

They wouldn't be returning to the storage chamber. At least, Bellamy wouldn't be. He hoped to be in that pod soon, hurdling down to Earth and towards his sister. Guilt still unfurled inside him at the thought of abandoning the Ark to flounder, but it wasn't like he was of any necessity to its survival. The most he could do was help Clarke get that message to whoever her mother had mentioned, so that they could find some way to send out the feed and notify the people. The result of it would be up to the Council to handle; the very job it prided itself in. But it was time for the people to be given back their voice.

Though Bellamy was anxious to leave, they settled for waiting until the following morning. The hours dragged slowly and the image of his mother haunted Bellamy's dreams, how her body was carried away on the shoulders of a thousand stars.

When morning finally did come, they packed up their meager supplies and Clarke wrapped his shoulder once more, before they left the confines of the chamber.

There was a third entryway into Tesla from Agro, and Bellamy took the lead, careful not to let his anxiety cloud his ability to think. He wished he could get rid of the uniform he still wore, but that only left a blood-soaked shirt which was, unfortunately for him, more suspicious than even a guard's attire.

"Turn left," Clarke said from behind him.

"I know where I'm going."

To Bellamy's relief, no guard materialized around every corner they passed. No shouts erupted. No alarms blared. And Bellamy felt that warm hopefulness again but he shoved it away. When they slipped past Agro and into Tesla, Bellamy didn't even allow himself to relax. That had been the easy part, regardless of the sweat running down his back that suggested otherwise.

The depository was located beside a long row of black, boxy generators, the door large but unobtrusive.

Bellamy didn't even need to check; he knew it was locked.

Clarke still pointed that out to him, but Bellamy pushed her fingers out of the way with a wave of his hand, and punched in a five digit code. That smugness returned. "You're not the only one who knows how to open a door," he whispered.

Clarke said nothing, but he thought he glimpsed her look of approval.

Bellamy herded her inside, looking back once before he let the door close after them. Automatically, the circadian lights flicked on, illuminating their surroundings.

The depository itself wasn't small. It was a descent-sized room holding another slew of generators. Bellamy had been here once before, but he still didn't understand the load of equipment in the room. Spools of wires, huge steel tubes welded together. It looked like someplace he'd find in the Factory Station. Other than the generators, it didn't look like somewhere dedicated to power.

Bellamy motioned to the other side of the room. "There," he said, spotting the suits behind a pane of glass. Luckily it wasn't locked; the security on the door must have seemed good enough to the Council.

Bellamy had the maniacal urge to laugh at that.

Instead, he just pressed a button lining one side of the pane and the glass rose upwards. The suits themselves didn't look like anything special; grey and bulky and suffocating. From the corner of his eye, Bellamy caught Clarke looking at them, in what could only be fear.

It took him a second to place it, because it wasn't an emotion she seemed partial to.

Bellamy suddenly felt very awkward, compelled to say something reassuring. But there was nothing reassuring about this, other than the hope they both wouldn't be dead within the next few minutes.

He cleared his throat before grabbing one of the suits, having to tug it from the hook.

Bellamy hesitated again.

"I'll go first," he told Clarke, as he discarded the guard's uniform which revealed the huge patchwork of blood stains on it. He was sure he smelled awful, like sweat and blood and sickness, as he stripped down to his under-shirt. "This was my idea, anyway," he added. "There's no reason for us both to die if only one of us has to."

Clarke nodded but didn't say anything. She watched him, as he dropped the suit and waded into it. He pulled it up over him, and slid his arms through the leathery material. It was lighter than he expected and instead of paying his mounting worry the attention it craved, Bellamy tried to drudge up every memory from the spacewalks he'd overseen, ensuring not to miss one single detail.

"Hand me that harness over there," he ordered Clarke. She complied and he slid that over the suit, stepping around the cable connected to it. When it was buckled, Bellamy gestured to a roll of tube and Clarke handed him the end piece. He inserted it over an opening in his chest.

"Are you sure you're doing this right?" Clarke asked uncertainly.

Bellamy swallowed back a retort. "We'll see soon enough."

The last thing left was the helmet, but he turned to Clarke before putting it on. "Now you."

Clarke took a deep breath but grabbed the other suit without complaint. "I'm not taking off my clothes," she said, as she pulled out of her shoes and put on the suit. Bellamy handed her the second harness and where she couldn't manage to fasten it, he did it for her. When that was finished, Bellamy stepped up to the airlock chamber and raised the helmet over his head. He had to twist it like a bottle cap for it to seal shut.

Clarke looked at him, still gripping her own space helmet with white fingers. "As soon as you step out, the Bridge will be notified of the unauthorized use of air."

Bellamy already knew this but accepted her words nonetheless. "Which gives me about a minute to prove that the suit is functional before it's your turn."

Clarke grimaced. "Good luck."

Bellamy almost said something else, like _you too,_ but the fear that had suddenly gripped his heart and squeezed made it difficult to speak. He stopped trying to, when the door to the airlock chamber was opening before him. Bellamy stepped inside, and into the metal box. He swallowed, the sound of his heartbeat echoing through the suit like a cavern.

"Ready?" Clarke's voice appeared around him and the effect was surprisingly calming. That one word, though, brought a surge of terror, shooting down his spine and causing his heart to pump faster.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he mumbled.

There was a hissing noise, as the final door separating him from space opened. Gravity disappeared and Bellamy nearly let out a scream as that invisible current he'd marveled at took him, nipping at his legs and pulling him out, out.

He watched as the floor beneath him disappeared, and was replaced with a carpet of stars.

The sight was nothing like it was in the Ark. He wasn't just staring at pinpricks of light, he was bathing in a sea of them, treading waves of dark velvet beneath his feet. It threaded through his fingers like ribbon and for the first time in Bellamy's life, there were no walls around him. No barrier. It was endless, infinite. Magnificently unrestrained and uncontrolled.

But beyond that, held in the palm of space, was Earth, strung up in the darkness like a beacon. Blues and greens and whorls of white expanded the surface, smeared like paint.

For a second, Bellamy forgot about dying. He forgot about air and even his own existence. It all seemed painfully small and fragile in comparison to the vastness of space; to the beauty of Earth that hovered just before him. It was right there, yet Bellamy couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that this might be the closest semblance of freedom he would ever reach.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Clarke

**Yay, this is the chapter I have been so excited to write! Because I hadn't read this concept anywhere else so that was cool. But I love this chapter. Please review!**

The stars were waiting for her. They seemed to always be waiting for her. Clarke stared out of the air lock window, her breath clouding the glass. She'd put on the helmet when Bellamy had gone into the chamber and now she was beginning to feel suffocated and smothered inside it.

Twenty four. Twenty four seconds Bellamy had been out there, drifting through space. She'd watched as it had dragged him out, picking him up as if he were nothing more than a speck of dust.

But he was, in a way. They all were.

"Bellamy?" Clarke asked after she'd reached thirty. There was silence on the other end and fear clamped a hand around her throat, making it hard to breathe. He was dead. And if he was dead, she was as good as dead herself. Soon this room would be flooded with guards; they were already on their way.

Clarke forced herself to remain calm. "Bellamy, are you there?"

"I'm still alive, if that's what you're asking," his voice chimed back, echoing inside the helmet. She let out an audible sigh of relief. "This has to fall on your list as one of the stupidest things you've ever done," she said.

"Right beneath shooting the Chancellor, yeah. Now it's your turn, Princess."

And just like that, the humor died.

Clarke felt the suit grow more restrictive, as if the very helmet itself was becoming smaller, crushing her temples. She suddenly felt dizzy as she opened the airlock chamber and forced herself inside. Her breathing grew shallow and more rapid, leaving her lips in sharp gasps. She stopped in front of the last opening.

Just beyond it lay an ocean of stars, some clustered, others scattered in isolation. It was poignant and haunting, with an appetite so voracious that not even infinity could sate it.

"When you come out, grab the rung on the right side of the ship, okay?" Bellamy instructed and even though he couldn't see it, Clarke nodded. "Okay." Her reply came out breathy.

"You'll be fine," he added after a second and though he seemed uncomfortable extending reassurance, it sounded sincere. As sincere as it could, given the circumstances.

"Right. It's just an illegal spacewalk without any prior experience or proper training," she muttered. "No big deal."

"I did the hardest part. This should be nothing for you."

Clarke couldn't even think of a smart reply. Not when images of her father bombarded her, the memories of his death replaying in her mind. She would be seeing the last thing he had seen. She would be floating over the same stars he had, as the galaxy claimed him as its own.

She would die, in the same way he did.

"I hate to rush you, Princess," Bellamy snapped. "But we're on a tight schedule."

Clarke froze. Her muscles locked, and she could have sworn that even her heart stuttered to a halt. She couldn't explain it and tried to beat it down like she usually would in any other situation, but this wasn't like viewing a surgery or holding down a kid for an injection.

This was something else entirely.

"I..." _I can't do this,_ Clarke thought. But she had no choice. It was too late. Now, she could either float in a suit, or float without one.

"Just press the button on the inside of the airlock," Bellamy said. "That's all you're doing. Just press the button."

But there was nothing nonthreatening about these buttons. Nothing kind. They took parents from their children, loved ones from their families, fathers from their daughters. They only had one purpose, and that was to send living things out to where they didn't belong.

Bellamy hissed in her ears, "Get moving."

On shaky legs, Clarke stepped towards the button beside the next door. The ocean of stars grew impossibly bigger, expanding endlessly downwards. She raised her hand, just as Clarke felt the hairs on her neck prickle.

Clarke shot a glance over her shoulder, and was met by a familiar face, eyes a frosted blue. Dark. Angry. She knew them as well as she knew the drawings in her cell.

Soren.

The chill of his presence hit her like cold water and Clarke gazed back at him, only for a second. Then she turned away and slammed her hand down on the button.

The door parted and the weight of her body disintegrated. The lifeless color of steel turned to a dust of stars swirling around her like tea dregs. On instinct, Clarke reached for the side of the ship as Bellamy had said, but she was moving too fast, tumbling away form the Ark. Panic bubbled up her throat and Clarke groped the empty air, but there was no purchase to grab. Nothing around her besides a blanket of stars that spun and spun and spun.

Clarke tried to right herself, but she had no sense of direction. Up and down didn't exist in space. Just emptiness.

She felt a scream build in her chest, pressing painfully against her ribs and before she could let it out, her body suddenly snapped back. The spinning stopped. Pain laced up her spine, hot and sharp and a coppery taste filled her mouth. She swallowed it.

Heart hammering, Clarke looked down, to the cable that extended from the harness. The wire of it was taut, her only lifeline keeping her from disappearing farther into space. Clarke looked from it to the Ark. Her fear instantly gave way to awe, maybe even admiration as she stared at the ship. It was all whirring metal and orbiting beams that turned and shifted. It was massive and strangely mesmerizing as Clarke watched millions of small pieces move together in sync. She'd seen images of the Ark's exterior, of course, but she knew pictures were never as good as the real thing.

"Clarke?" Bellamy's voice appeared inside the helmet and the spots exploding over her vision reminded her to breathe.

"I-I missed," Clarke whispered, voice rocky. Maybe she had screamed.

"that's okay. Just use the cable to pull yourself back in."

Air sawed between her lips but Clarke listened, latching onto the cable. She pulled, moving forward with surprising ease and though Clarke had never floated in the water, she imagined it would feel something like this.

When she made it a few meters ahead, she glanced back to see the excess cable coiling behind her. To increase speed, Clarke tried hooking her legs around for leverage. The action did little to help and instead, her body drifted upwards, pulling the cable with her.

An annoyed breath tickled her eardrums. "Raise your skirts and pick up the pace, Princess," Bellamy mumbled and Clarke ground her teeth in frustration. "I'm going as fast as I can," she bit out, focusing every unit of attention on the cable sliding between her fingers. She was getting closer though. Already she could make out the exterior of the outside of the chamber, comically small in comparison to the sheer size of the rest of the Ark.

She felt the guards before she saw them, leering behind the doors in wait. But this was a place that even the Council couldn't reach its gluttonous hand.

Almost subconsciously, Clarke counted down the seconds, how many precious breaths of air she'd wasted. Who would pay the price of it? A sick patient? Someone's grandfather, whose empty days were already seen as filled?

 _Faster_ , Clarke chided herself, yanking more forcefully on the cable. She tried not to picture it detaching from the ship, sentencing her to the embrace of the infinite shadows around her.

Yet when she was finally close enough to see passed the chamber to the guards inside, that thought vanished as Clarke picked out Soren. Cold, submissive Soren, who wanted nothing more than to be recognized for his uncompromising loyalty, with the end of her cable clutched tightly in his hand.

Clarke stopped. Everything stopped. The million movements of the Ark ceased and all she could see was Soren and the glint of wire cutters that he raised to show her.

Clarke was no novice to fear, but she was to terror and she knew that's what she felt now. It cut to the bone and sang in her veins. It spurred her by fear but kept her frozen in panic as both instincts warred against each other, as if she were two persons trapped in the mind of one.

"Bellamy," she mouthed, but her voice died in her throat.

That image resurfaced, of her drowning, choking in the endlessness of space. Clarke saw herself falling and drifting farther and farther away until the Ark disappeared and she was left alone in the darkness.

So much darkness.

"Bellamy," she said, louder.

"Just shut up and climb," he snapped.

But he wasn't seeing what she was seeing and for one, beautiful moment, nothing happened. Then Soren brought up the wire cutters and Clarke's vision turned red.

" _Bellamy_!" she screamed, coming to life and scrambling down the cable as fast as she could.

"Clarke? Clarke!"

"The cable!" she cried. "They're cutting my cable!"

Another thing about terror: no reason existed within its grasp.

All logic flew from Clarke's mind and in its place fell something almost manic, a screaming desire to get away that overrode everything else.

"Move faster, Clarke!" Bellamy shouted at her. "I'll pull you in!"

She tried, working every muscle in her body. Her arms ached and Clarke kicked out her legs uselessly. She kept her eyes on the airlock, and watched as only a couple dozen meters away the doors of it opened, and out floated the severed end of her lifeline.

" _Daddy?" Clarke's younger voice rang out as she came beside her father's lap, leaning into it and peering up at him curiously. "What are the stars made of?" She asked._

 _He smiled, pulling her onto his leg. "The stars?"_

 _"Wells says there's one star for every person. Even people you know, like your friends. Is that true?"_

 _Her father's smile turned into a grin and he chuckled. "I don't think that's true, but I do think every star is special like every person. It's unique, and carries its own light."_

 _"Then why are they there?" Clarke raised. "What do they do?"_

 _He wove a finger around one of her loose curls and tugged on it playfully. "I like to think that they're there to remind us we are never alone. And that even in the darkest times, we still have reason to hope."_

The flashback faded. Clarke was left in the dark. And she was close enough now to find that her father had been right.

The stars were not her friends.

" _Bellamy_!"

Clarke barely registered his curse in her head as she fumbled forward faster and faster, pulling the end of the cable closer to her. She couldn't die here. Not like this. Not yet.

 _Please_ , Clarke begged. To her Dad, to God, to the cable coming too close too fast. But she knew she wasn't going to make it. Despite her best efforts, Clarke was going die in the dark, with innocent lives following soon after.

"It's-it's too far!" she gasped, unable to swallow back her tears. "I can't..." _I can't. I can't. I can't._

"Just hold out your hand!" Bellamy ordered and Clarke tore her eyes away from the cable, just in time to make out his suit, a point of light heading straight for her. She did as she was told, stretching her hand out, deeper into the shadows.

Clarke could just make out the features in his face,- his brows knitted in panic, sweat glistening on his forehead- when he suddenly jerked back, his own cable tight behind him.

He reached his hand out to her and Clarke made a grab for it, but she was being pulled in the opposite direction, the darkness lapping hungrily at her heels.

"Come on, Clarke," Bellamy's voice hissed from the strain and now, Clarke could see his eyes, big and brown and desperate. The sob that had been mounting in her chest tore up her throat and Clarke forced her hand farther, until the joints popped. She didn't even feel it.

"I _can't_ ," she whimpered, closing her eyes. "Please..."

Her fingertips brushed his.

 _I'll see you soon, Dad._

"No!" With one final swipe, Bellamy's hand reached for hers and latched onto her fingers.

Clarke gripped him back, even as his cry of pain echoed through her head. "Don't let go, Bellamy," she murmured, as she pictured herself drifting again, careening through nothingness.

"Clarke! Look at me, Clarke!" His voice crackled in her ears, and Clarke pried her eyes open, meeting his again.

"I won't let you go," he promised. "Okay? Just do as I say. Can you do that?"

Clarke took a deep breath as a shudder ripped down her spine. But she nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. I can do that." She said it in a feeble voice that belied her words but she looked at him determinedly.

"Good. Now I need you to reach up and grab me with your other hand."

She complied, letting out a muffled sound of relief as his grip grew more firm, securing around her arms.

"Now hurry up and get to the cable before they float the both of us."

Her momentary relief vanished and Clarke maneuvered around him, sliding under his arm and towards it. She didn't let go of him until her hands were securely around the thin wire.

Bellamy passed her and took the lead. He tugged on the cable, drawing them back to the Ark in quick bursts of movement. That cold fear still simmered inside her and Clarke cast a cursory glance towards the airlock. She wondered if Soren was still there but if he was, he was out of sight. If he or any of the other guards had seen Bellamy, his cable would've already been cut. If they'd seen him helping her, they had seconds before it would be.

It must have only taken a couple minutes, but it felt much longer for them to come up to the ship. As they did, Bellamy released the cable and made for a rung, secured on the underside of the Ark. He turned back to her and nodded.

Clarke followed suit, and grasped at the metal bar. The fear of disappearing into the void behind her faded, knocked out of place by the new fear of oxygen. The reminder of lives.

Bellamy began climbing up the rungs and Clarke mirrored his actions, shoving away thoughts of dying people and hands stained in red. They were so close and she forced herself to stay right behind Bellamy, as they traveled across the Ark's hide and towards Mecha. She recalled the blueprints she'd studied of it once. A short phase in which she'd taken an interest in engineering, and she couldn't deny herself the fleeting moment of relief as one of Mecha's airlock chambers came into view, dropping a few meters down.

"It's there," she said.

The chamber itself would have seemed identical to the one in Tesla if not for the large marker _MS-2_ printed above it. On the left side of the doors was the button and Bellamy reached for it, flipping over the cover before pressing it down.

The doors separated and Bellamy went inside first. Clarke brought up the read, using her legs to launch herself into it.

The stars disappeared as grey steel returned. Clarke felt Bellamy grab her arm again and tug her few feet forward, pulling her closer just as his fist connected with the second button. The doors shut behind them and gravity returned with a vengeance. Her body became a deadened weight and they slammed against the floor, the impact sending Clarke rolling to the side. Her arms and legs screamed in pain and there wasn't a part of her, no muscle or bone, that didn't hurt. The inside of her helm pounded with the strength of her heartbeat.

Clarke sat up, feeling the weight of the suit resettle over her, heavy with the pull of gravity. But she still felt suffocated, like the air was being squeezed from her lungs.

She stood, ignoring the dizziness that made the ship tilt. Her hands went to the sides of her helmet and Clarke tried to undo it, wanting it off. She distantly noted the fiery pain in a couple of her fingers as she tried to pry off the helmet. Even through the thick fog in her mind, she was able to deduce that at least three of them had to be dislocated.

The prying turned to scratching and against her will, a tear leaked out her eye. Her breathing once again turned to gasps, but she refused to go into shock. They had no time for it.

"Hey," Bellamy's voice suddenly broke through to her. " _Hey_ , calm down, I've got it." He raised his own palms to her helmet and twisted it off.

The familiar smell of metal returned to Clarke, laced with something tangy and she took in lungfuls of the air, suppressing the urge to both cry and laugh. She didn't have the energy for either, and instead she folded over herself, resting her hands on her knees. She basked in this single second of peace, at the prospect of being where she was. Here. Alive.

She had come so close to death. Had looked it in the eye. Had taken its hand and danced with it in the suns.

When the moment ended, Clarke looked over at Bellamy, who was twisting off his own helmet. He let it clatter to the ground and leaned his head against the wall, still breathing roughly. He didn't say anything and neither did she and a silence filled the air around them, quiet except for the sounds of discordant breaths.

Clarke was the one to break it. "You saved my life today," she said softly.

Bellamy scoffed. "Don't sound so surprised. You saved mine. I saved yours. That makes us even."

"I didn't know anyone was keeping score."

Bellamy's gaze hardened and his eyes narrowed at her. Clarke struggled to place the emotion she saw in them, but she could make out anger. Prominent in the tightness of his jaw.

"We're not," he said. "So don't take that as an invitation for a repeat."

Clarke pursed her lips and her gaze dropped to her lap, to the set of gnarled fingers on her right hand. It wasn't three fingers that had been dislocated. It was four.

She couldn't reset them yet, not here at least and she looked back at Bellamy. "How's your shoulder?" She asked, remembering how he'd grabbed her with his injured arm. He'd also used it to drag them back to the Ark. It would've been stupid if it hadn't been so necessary.

Bellamy turned away from her, too deliberately, but she didn't miss his grimace of pain. "How do you think?" He mumbled. But then he just shook his head, walking towards the end of the vacant room that was littered with gears and gadgets. "It's fine. Come on."

Clarke went after him and though they were still dawned in spacesuits, she reached for his shoulder."I need to check to see if the wound reopened."

He swatted her hand away. "You can do it later. But right now we have to focus on getting someplace safe. I don't feel like waiting around for the Guard's warm welcome."

Clarke sighed but silently, she agreed. She stopped behind him as he peeked through the window of the thick door that led from the room. When it was cleared, he gestured for her to follow as he slipped through the exit.

Before doing the same, Clarke paused, as some invisible pull drew her attention behind her. She looked back at the airlock, passed the clear doors and into the stars that sparkled like jewels. Alluring. Innocent. But she wasn't fooled. It was the most beautiful things that often proved the most deadly.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Bellamy

**Okay, so Sci Gov is actually called Go Sci. Gah! But I am not going to change it because I don't want that to confuse anyone. Sorry I messed that part up, my source was apparently untrustworthy. Or I just accidentally did that. My apologies. I'm still calling in Sci Gov, though. But I'm aware of it being incorrect. Oh well. Also a good song to listen to is Disciple X- Dear. It sounds like it would go well with Bellamy. Or Clarke. Is the character development going well? Oh, and I have yet to edit this so ignore any mistakes. Please review! They mean a lot :)**

He had lied.

Bellamy's shoulder wasn't fine. Grabbing Clarke, he'd felt the skin that had started to knit back together tear open again. He didn't have to check it to know it was bleeding, but the pain wasn't as disabling as it had been, so he'd endure it.

 _"You saved my life today,"_ Clarke's words echoed in his head and try as he might, Bellamy couldn't snuff out the glimmer of pride it invoked. But it didn't last long. So he'd saved someone's life; that did nothing to compensate for the one he took.

Miraculously, no guards had come charging down the corridors yet and though a small relief, Bellamy wasn't interested in testing it by sticking around. Clarke followed close behind as they slunk down the corridor, treading lightly and ducking their heads when someone passed. A few curious stares lingered on them which made Bellamy's skin crawl inside his suit. They were too obvious and far too exposed.

"Do you know where we're going?" Bellamy asked Clarke in a low whisper. He'd been in Mecha before, but not often and he was finding it hard to focus over the weight of the suit and his own throbbing arm. He was disoriented and tired. Hunger gnawed at him but the thought of eating another protein packet make him cringe. At the very least, he craved a safe piece of floor to lie down on, where he didn't need to worry about guards stepping over him.

Clarke eyed him warily and he didn't miss the glance she threw at his shoulder. "Repairs, I think."

"You _think_?"

She just grimaced, but kept walking, down the main corridor that branched off into dozens of directions.

"Wait," she said, holding up a hand as they came to a bend. Around it lay an open area, almost like a commons room if not for the small counter a few people were lined in front of. Bellamy recognized it vaguely.

"The Exchange," Clarke informed him.

Bellamy smirked, casting her a sideways glance. "I think you mean the Black Market."

She looked up at him. "If it were one, don't you think the Council would have picked that up by now?"

"Contrary to what you may believe, not even the Council can follow everyone all the time. Or is the fact that we're still alive not proof enough for you?"

Clarke gave a subtle shake of her head, but didn't contradict him. "I just pointed it out because I think we're getting close."

Bellamy glowered at her, irritability bleeding into his tone. "Again with the think. Is there anything that you actually know?"

She didn't flinch under the heat of his stare and replied indignantly, "I know staying in this corridor dressed as spacewalkers is liable to get us both caught. But I _think_ we're getting close to Repairs." With that, she started around the bend.

Bellamy's hand shot out and he clamped it around her wrist, dragging her back next to him. "What are you doing?" he hissed quietly. "You can't just walk out in front of all those people."

Clarke shook off his hand and spoke evenly, looking up at him with those blue eyes. "If we don't then we're both dead anyway."

Bellamy looked back at the small row of people, holding a variety of items in their hands to trade off. "And how do you suggest we get over there without getting caught?" he asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Clarke faced the room. "I suggest we walk quickly."

She led the way, lowering her head as she took a few cautious steps forward, and Bellamy watched for a moment as she walked ahead of him. A meter. Two. He glanced back at the people lined up.

One man's attention had drifted towards her, quickly followed by another. A boy clutched by the wrist pointed. One woman's gaze turned dark. By the time Clarke was halfway across the room, eyes were following her in her wake and Bellamy felt something twist inside him.

Murmurs erupted, but Bellamy's gaze had settled on the person behind the counter, a black woman, as she raised some sort of device to her lips.

A warning went off in his head, the world blurring at the edges, and Bellamy burst into action. _Screw it_ , he thought as he ran forward, brushing by Clarke and grasping her arm. "Run!"

She looked back, just for a second, and picked up her pace. Voices raised behind them, commanding them to wait, to stop, and Bellamy hurled mental insults at them as he ran. Always did people tell the runaway to stop. Never once did the runaway listen.

Their footsteps reverberated down the wide corridor and Bellamy expected to see guards come pouring from the end of it, but they didn't, and as they ran farther from the people behind, the only sounds he became aware of was the echo of their feet, pounding in unison and his own hammering heart. The suit seemed to gain ten pounds and he felt as if he was dragging his entire body.

When the corridor split in two, Bellamy paused, glancing anxiously from one direction to the other. His eyes bored into Clarke. "Which way?" he barked.

She gulped down breaths, blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Her eyes scanned the corridors and her eyebrows knitted in confusion. She hesitated.

His voice turned steely. "Which way, Clarke?"

"Right," she said, and turned down that channel. Bellamy followed after, hie heart rising to his throat. They passed more entries and no sooner had they started running again that they were forced to stop and Bellamy wanted to scream in frustration. The pain in his shoulder had disappeared, hidden behind the mask of adrenaline.

Then Clarke was tugging on his suit, making his eyes snap to her. "There," she breathed and they were running again, down a new corridor with the words _Repairs-Sect 6_ guiding their steps. Work rooms lined the inside of the corridor, not just one door embellished in the walls but multiple. Bellamy felt his frustration return. "Which one is it?" he growled at her, as if this were her fault. It wasn't, Bellamy knew, but that did nothing to ease the panic in his voice.

Clarke turned in a fast circle, head whipping in all directions. "My Mom said she had someone working on it. _She_. Not the Council."

Bellamy's annoyance transformed into full-fledged anger. "Good distinction. Now tell me why it matters."

"Because," Clarke looked at him. "It means the Council probably doesn't know about it. Which means this person will be working somewhere private, Somewhere isolated, somewhere..." her gaze trailed away from him, down another corridor that didn't lead anywhere but to a rustic door. Her eyes lit up. "Somewhere like that."

A moment later, they both stood before the entrance, a small window allowing some visual into the room. Bellamy peered into it. His heartbeat rattled in his chest as his eyes landed on a metal frame, sides opened like some steel bird preparing for flight.

He felt a smile creep onto his feet. "Right was a good call," he said.

"It was only good if we know how to bypass the lock." Clarke lifted her eyes to him again. "Do you?"

Bellamy's elation at seeing the escape pod receded and he slammed a fist against the window. Pain shot up his arm, but he didn't care. Everything he wanted was just beyond a door. A stupid, old door.

Clarke frowned. "I'll take that as a no." She ran a hand through her hair, and her gaze dropped low. Bellamy didn't know when he'd started recognizing her expressions, but he knew this one. She wore it when she was trying to figure something out, siffling through their options like paper.

"My Mom wouldn't have told me about the pod if I couldn't get to it," she mused aloud.

Bellamy pursed his lips to keep down a retort. "Unless it was a trap," he said, matter-of-fact.

Clarke sighed, but put a hand over the panel. "I don't think so. But it's not like we have much to lose."

"Nothing but our lives."

"No more than usual."

She punched in a code, and a red light flashed. Anxiety thrummed inside him as Clarke tried again, and again, and again. Every time, that insufferable red light illuminated the panel and Bellamy was considering hitting the window again when she gave one more attempt, and the red turned to a brilliant green.

Bellamy looked over at her in surprise. Or maybe it was subtle admiration, he couldn't tell the difference. "What was it?" he asked her.

She let out a shaky breath as the door opened. "My father's execution date."

A twinge of anger lit inside Bellamy. It was brief, but it was there and it was directed straight at Abby Griffin herself.

Clarke went inside first and Bellamy scanned the vacant area behind them before following her. The workroom was a mess; arrays of tools occupied a good portion of the floor and Bellamy could recognize bolts and blow torches. Recognition stopped at a myriad of other gadgets he had never seen before in his life.

The pod resting in the center of the room seemed larger than it had before, and Bellamy couldn't keep himself from making his way over to touch it, fingers grazing along the cold metal frame.

There was actually a way to the ground, and here it was, resting just beneath his hand.

"Okay, we're someplace safe," Clarke said, voice shattering the stillness he hadn't noticed until it was gone. Bellamy lowered his hand and turned to her.

"I need to check your wound."

At the mention, Bellamy registered the pain in his shoulder and winced. He unfastened the suit and zipped it down, shrugging his good arm out and easing the material off his injured one. It burned, but it didn't cripple and regardless of the stain of red painted across the bandage, he took that as a sign of improvement.

Clarke discarded her own suit, retrieving the supplies she'd kept inside of it. but her own hiss of breath made Bellamy look more closely at her, scanning for injuries over the length of her body. Her shirt was free of scarlet, pale skin untainted with blood, but then Bellamy's eyes found her hands, pausing on her fingers curled the wrong way.

He took a deep breath and watched as she placed one hand over the other.

"What're you-?"

 _Pop._

Bellamy flinched as she reset her fingers, the joints snapping back into place. Clarke let out a muffled cry but didn't scream and once again, Bellamy found himself baffled by this girl. She was strong. He wouldn't pretend not to see that anymore.

When she looked back at him, Bellamy caught the beads of sweat on her forehead, but she just walked calmly towards him, rising up on her feet to get a closer to see his shoulder.

He pulled off his shirt so she could view the wound more clearly yet when she leaned over, Bellamy had the sudden urge to move away. He felt the heat of her breath against his skin as she peeled off the soiled bandages and unwrapped the new ones. He was getting used to the sting of disinfectant and didn't even shift snap at her as she applied it.

Only when Clarke was done wrapping did she look up at him and Bellamy glimpsed a spark of surprise, passing over her face. But just as quickly it disappeared as the door behind her suddenly opened and she whirled around.

Bellamy's eyes snapped foward, to the small person who stepped inside, stopping just in front of the entryway. Dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her tank top and cargo pants mottled with grease stains. In her hand she clutched a wrench with bloodless fingers, but they tightened even more as the girl's gaze met his.

A scowl appeared between her brows, but Bellamy could see the panic beneath it, fueling the anger in her brown eyes.

He went to move forward.

"Take one step," the girl hissed maliciously. "And I'll have you floated for breaking and entering."

Bellamy heeded her warning and stilled. "Who are you?" he asked.

"You bust into _my_ work space and you demand to know who _I_ am?" She shook her head. "No. Trespassers first."

Before Bellamy could say anything-devise some elaborate lie-Clarke spoke up. "Griffin," she said. "Clarke Griffin."

The girl's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Clarke? As in Abby's-daughter, Clarke?" She appraised her. "Your Mom said you were on the dropship."

Clarke licked her lips. "She lied."

The suspicion didn't ebb. "If that's true, I'm surprised I haven't seen your face plastered to every digital billboard yet." Her tone was accusatory.

But Clarke remained impassive, calm and collected as she said, "Over two thousand people learning of a potential threat? The Council would be overwhelmed with false sightings and leads. They'd follow each one but," she glanced across at Bellamy, "Not even the Council can be everywhere at once."

The girl's scowl didn't let up as she looked between the two of them. "Don't suppose you have any ID?"

Bellamy tensed. But Clarke just raised her arm, the one with the wristband on it. "Right now, my profile is reading spikes in norepinephrine and cortisol. Stress hormones that elevate the heart rate and raise blood pressure. They must think there's something making me afraid."

The girl studied the bracelet for another moment before looking away-to Bellamy. "And you? It's not often I find a half-naked intruder in my space."

Bellamy struggled for a lie. "I'm a...friend." It wasn't a term he used often and it slid awkwardly off his tongue. Since he was a kid, Bellamy had adapted the belief that anyone he let too close to him was in danger of discovering his sister. Friendship had its costs and since Bellamy was a child, he could never afford the trust entitled to it.

But he could see it in the girl's dark eyes that she didn't believe him for a second. "That bandage looks ugly. I wonder what it's from."

Bellamy shared a glance with Clarke. "I-"

She cut him off. "Seems bad. You know it's funny, because Abby mentioned the guy who had attempted to assassinate the Chancellor was injured himself. Bullet wound. Ouch. But that's probably just speculation, right?"

Bellamy stopped hearing her. _The guy who had attempted to assassinate..._ The weight in his chest threatened to leave him and he couldn't keep himself from asking, "Wait-What do you mean _attempt?_ You mean Jaha's _alive_?"

Tension charged the air, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

The girl smiled, and there was something derisive in the tightness of her lips. "You're a lousy shot."

Bellamy abruptly felt lightheaded as the realization struck him with the force of a dozen bricks. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clarke look at him. Then she was in front of him, staring into his eyes. "Do you know what this means?" she asked, voice earnest, almost kind. "You're not a killer, Bellamy."

He looked away from her, at his hands, as if expecting to see red there like he did in his nightmares. But there was just skin. Clean, freckled skin.

Even if he had killed Jaha, that wouldn't make a difference now. Not after everything he'd done. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "So I won't be executed for his murder. The Council still has a variety to choose from. Impersonation, assault and battery, attempted assassination, theft, trespassing, illegal usage of air..." he drifted off when he caught the girl watching him, her scowl replaced with a look reminisent of respect.

"Seems Shooter here has been busy," she mused.

Bellamy glared at her. "We answered your questions. Now you answer ours. You can start by telling us who you are."

She shrugged, loosening her hold on the wrench. "Raven Reyes, Zero-G Mechanic."

Bellamy frowned at her. "Aren't you a little too young for a mechanic?"

Her fiery gaze returned to his and she approached him. "Aren't you a little too lively for a dead man?"

Clarke stepped between them, facing away from Bellamy as she fell into role as mediator."Look,...Raven," she said. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, okay? I just came here to ask for a favor."

The mechanic's eyebrows shot up and she gestured at Clarke with her wrench. "A favor?" she repeated incredulously. "I get that your Abby's kid and all, but that doesn't automatically bump you up to my VIP list."

Clarke didn't back down, continuing as if she hadn't heard her. "I need you to send out a public feed. To everyone, on every screen."

Raven stared at her, hand falling to her hip. "I'm a mechanic. Not a technician."

If Clarke was irritated, she didn't show it. Instead her voice was even-toned and to Bellamy's surprise, diplomatic. He watched her as she retrieved the hard drive from her back pocket. "All you need to be able to do is circulate this feed through the Ark," Clarke said, brandishing the silvery item. "Can you do that?"

Raven eyed it a moment and shook her head. "Why should I? As far as I'm concerned, I'm already going behind the Council's back with rebuilding a pod and I make it a rule not to do more than one illegal thing at a time."

"This isn't a personal request," Clarke replied, her patience waning. "I'm talking about people's _lives_ here."

"Is it about the air?" Raven asked, and the question made Clarke freeze in her place. "You know?"

That smile returned. "Why do you think I'm building a pod anyway? Radio feed is dead and Abby needs some way to find out if the Earth is survivable. As soon as she gets me my pressure regulator, I'm out of here."

"And if you don't make it?" Clarke asked. "If you can't make radio contact, either? Then what? People will be killed. Don't you even care?"

The smile vanished from Raven's face and in its place fell something dark and angry. "Maybe it's escaped your attention, but I'd be aiding criminals. A fugitive on the run," she nodded towards Bellamy, "With Jaha's shooter as your partner. It seems the daughter of Abby Griffin doesn't keep very good company."

Bellamy glowered at her and took a step forward. "You do _not_ want to-"

Clarke put her hands between them, keeping them in their designated corners. "You're right," she deadpanned and Bellamy couldn't deny the jolt of anger that surged through him. His glower turned on her.

"We're both wanted by the Council," she said. "But we wouldn't be if they'd done their job and if the Chancellor had been a fair leader. And by fair, I mean not keeping secrets from his people and not murdering those who wanted to share them with everybody else."

Raven studied her, looking at the both of them from beneath dark lashes. She twirled her wrench in her hand. "I sense a vendetta. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested, but I don't do those sorts of things."

The last remnants of Clarke's diplomacy disappeared. "Don't you get it?" she hissed, finally partaking in Bellamy's own anger. "The Council will _murder_ people. _Innocent_ people. And I just want to give them a choice. A chance to give their life instead of having it taken from them."

The mechanic looked unconvinced. "But they'll still die," she stated bluntly.

Clarke nodded and though Bellamy didn't have a clear view of her expression, he could imagine what would see there; determination, passion, and that cold, controlled fire, burning in her eyes. "Yeah, they'll die. But at least they'll know what it is they're dying for."

"And if your Mom is right?" Raven proffered, crossing her arms over her chest. "What if your expectations go south? Then you'll be responsible for causing a panic, and that alone will be enough to tear this ship apart."

Clarke's voice turned flat. "Then I'll be the first one in line to float myself."

A silence swept inside the room and Bellamy's gaze burned into the back of her head. Though her words must have ignited some fear in her, Bellamy didn't doubt their truth. Clarke had told him her life wasn't her priority and she'd meant it, just like she meant it now.

Raven's eyes narrowed but there was a smirk, toying at the edges of her lips. "Let me guess what I'm supposed to get out of this-some sort of moral satisfaction, right? Are you really gonna play the honor card?"

"That and the fact you'll be heading to the ground soon enough," Clarke said. "The risks for you are minimal."

Raven exchanged a look between them, but her gaze settled on Bellamy, eyes filling with disdain. He couldn't fault her for it; the feeling was mutual. "Fine. But that's just what you want. What's he after?"

Drawn to the pod behind him, Bellamy looked over at it, small and rustic with the words _Mir-3_ printed on its side. "That thing holds two, doesn't it?"

Her smirk transformed into a smile, one carved out of disbelief. "Dream on, Shooter. The only other person who's getting on that ship with me is Abby."

Bellamy clenched his fists, until his nails bit crescent moons into his palms. His ticket to the ground was right there, just a couple meters away. He wouldn't let it go so easily, and he definitely wouldn't let it go without a fight.

It took effort to keep his intentions from his features.

"Does that mean you'll help?" Clarke asked, pulling the attention from Bellamy.

Raven stared at Clarke pointedly for a moment, quiet, pondering. She gave a noncommittal shrug. "I guess I owe your Mom, so I'll get out your feed. I don't plan to hang around here long enough to see the outcome anyway. But as for you," she glared back at Bellamy, aiming her wrench at him as if she were wielding a weapon. "If you try to steal my ship, you won't have to worry about the Council; I'll kill you myself."


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Clarke

**Announcement! I wrote another 100 fanfiction...Big surprise. It is written differently and is actually my preferred tense and perspective. It's called I Am the Reaper inspired by the poem written by William Henley and is basically about Cage turning Bellamy into a Reaper instead of using him as a blood if you're interested, it's up! Please review :)**

"There's one other thing," Clarke said, and Raven raised an eyebrow at her. "You can't tell my Mom about Bellamy. Or about me, for that matter."

In her peripheral vision, Clarke saw Bellamy's look of surprise but she kept her gaze locked with the other woman's.

"Why not?" Raven asked. "You're her kid. She'd do anything for you."

Clarke dismissed the praise. Once, she'd believed the same. That her mom would go to great lengths for her family. At least Clarke had been correct about the first part-she had gone to great lengths, but it wasn't to keep her family safe.

She forced neutrality into her voice. "I don't trust my Mom. If she suspects anything, tell her about me. Just leave Bellamy out of it."

Raven shook her head disapprovingly. "Look, I get that things are strained with you and Abby. But _I_ trust her. She lied to me about you being on the dropship, but she was just doing that to protect you." A note of envy leaked into her tone. "She loves you, Clarke."

Anger bubbled up in her, but Clarke thrust it back down. For some reason, she hated having a person on her Mom's side, who saw the person Clarke so desperately wanted her to be again.

But she didn't let any of that show. Instead, Clarke just looked away, back at the door locked with the date of her father's execution. Immortalized in digits. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She loved my Dad, too."

* * *

Raven allowed the both of them to stay in the workroom for the night. The following day, she'd help send out the feed but made it clear that she would do it no later than that. Clarke had ventured to ask her when she planned to launch the escape pod, but the mechanic had just shrugged and said, "soon." When she didn't elaborate, Clarke got the memo, but she suspected her reasons for secrecy had more to do with Bellamy than with herself.

Raven stuck around to work on the pod and every once in awhile Clarke caught Bellamy eyeing the small ship, his expression unguarded in the moment that she could clearly see the want in his eyes.

She felt a lace of guilt unravel inside her. Clarke was getting what she wanted; the feed out to the residents of the Ark, and even though Bellamy had found what he was looking for-a way to the ground-he still seemed very far from getting it.

But if there was anything Clarke understood about Bellamy, it was his inability to be deterred. It was thicker than just stubbornness and ran deeper than determination. It was something powerful. Indomitable. A force of his own making that even he wrestled for control over.

As the time dragged by, Clarke took a seat on the hard floor around the tools, and leaned against the wall. The cold seeped into her back and goosebumps rose over her skin from the cool draft, but she wouldn't put the spacesuit back on. The last thing she wanted was to fall into nightmares of boundless shadow, illuminated by stars.

Her other thoughts weren't much better. Anxiety tightened around her heart as she tried to guess what the next day would bring. By this time tomorrow, one of her parents will have been proven right. Either people would band together like her father had believed, or pandemonium would explode and the people would destroy each other.

To keep out those haunting thoughts, Clarke retrieved her father's watch, still in her back pocket. The battery was dead and the knitted band frayed, but she didn't care. Gingerly, her thumb caressed the glass face, its fingers frozen at midnight. She could almost pretend that time itself had stilled. That this single moment could be made eternal by the hands of a broken watch. But moments weren't meant to last, which was proven a couple minutes later as Raven finished her day's work and started for the door.

She turned towards Clarke, back at Bellamy as if refusing to acknowledge him. Raven pointed upwards. "I'm gonna need to turn the lights off. Energy conservation and all."

Clarke nodded, but before the mechanic could leave, she called to her. "Hey, Raven?"

The girl looked back and Clarke offered her a small smile. "Thank you." She meant it.

Raven smirked at her. "Hey, undermining the Council is what I do." Then she turned and left the room. The circadian lights lived for another heartbeat before they went out and the thrum of electricity disappeared. Clarke took a deep breath. So much for avoiding nightmares. Try as she might, she seemed to always find her way back to the dark.

"Is that your Dad's?" Bellamy's voice cut through the blackness and Clarke flinched at the suddenness of it. His back was pressed to the wall opposite of hers and though she couldn't see him clearly, she could make out the shape of his form, one of his feet pulled to his chest and the other resting on the floor.

Clarke couldn't read the numbers on the face of it anymore, hidden beneath a thin layer of darkness, but the feel of the watch was what really mattered to her. "It was. He wanted me to have it."

Bellamy paused. "You didn't have to say that to Raven earlier. That wasn't part of the deal."

Clarke looked at him, to the small shimmer in his eyes from the light beyond the window. "If this is your attempt at a thank you, it's pretty lame. But," she shrugged, "you didn't have to save my life either and you did. Not everything has to be part of a deal."

He didn't say anything for a minute and Clarke was beginning to think he'd drifted off to sleep. But then she heard Bellamy's intake of breath before he replied, "I don't want to owe you anything."

"I don't want you to owe me anything," she agreed. "I just asked Raven not to mention you because you're more at risk here than I am. I don't think my Mom would turn me in if Raven told her about me, but I'm even less sure of that when it comes to you."

"So you think you're safe around your Mom?"

Clarke hesitated. "Safer than you."

More silence. "I really can't figure you out sometimes," Bellamy replied, and there was a thread of annoyance in his tone, as if he didn't like to be confused.

But Clarke just smirked, and gripped the watch in her hand more firmly. "I could say the same about you."

"I'm just here for my sister," he said. "That's it."

"And I'm just here for everyone else."

He said nothing more and Clarke heard him shift around for a more comfortable position. But there was something that had been nagging at her for the last few hours, and now was the best time as any to voice it. "You never wanted to shoot Jaha," she asked slowly. "Did you?"

A different kind of tension ignited in the air, one that was reserved and chary. "What?"

"You looked relieved when Raven said he was alive, which tells me that you either regretted shooting him, or that you never wanted to in the first place."

"I shot him. He lived. The circumstances around it are irrelevant now."

Clarke leaned forward. "You're wrong. It all matters, because it's _your_ choices that define who you are."

Bellamy scoffed, a throaty growl that began deep inside his chest. "My Mom raised me to be good. To be better, but I'm not, okay? If killing the Chancellor meant getting to my sister, I'd do it again. So maybe you're right; maybe choices do define a person and if that's true than _that_ is the kind of man I am."

Clarke knew he didn't want the subject pressed, but she didn't drop it. She was curious, and curiosity was not so easily quenched. "So you tried to kill him to get to your sister? How exactly would that have helped you?"

"What is it you want me to say? That I cut a deal with someone? That they gave gave me the gun? No one forced me to pull the trigger. That was _m_ y choice." His voice turned low. "Why does it matter to you anyway? You don't know anything about me."

Clarke shook her head. "I see more than you think. Risking your life, risking your conscience to get to the ground? You always did what you had to do to protect your sister, didn't you?"

"And how would you know?" he snapped.

"Because she wasn't imprisoned until she was at least sixteen," Clarke said, recalling the face of the girl and estimating her age. "Years, spent in hiding. Her entire life... She couldn't have made it that long on her own."

When he didn't answer, it confirmed her suspicions. "You're willing to risk everything of yourself if it means getting to your sister," Clarke said quietly, her words drifting over the space between them. " _That's_ who you are."

The anger seemed to drain from him, and his voice suddenly sounded tired. "Anyone who has expectations of me...they're always left disappointed."

She smiled. "Judging from how you went from threatening my life to saving it, I think it's safe to say you've exceeded mine." There was a small exhale and though Clarke couldn't see him, she had the impression he was smiling.

Content with that, Clarke lay down on the hard floor, using her arm as a pillow. She shut her eyes and, clutching her father's watch, braced herself for the nightmares if they came. But it wasn't as anxiety-inducing as it had been earlier. She was in the dark, yes, but at least she wasn't here alone.

* * *

The sound of approaching footsteps jarred her awake. Clarke blinked, eyes trailed on the ceiling. She quickly pulled herself up, looking over at Bellamy who was already on his feet. In an instant he had swept up a tool, brandishing it in front of him and Clarke was suddenly afraid it would be her Mom at the door. But then it opened and a familiar small frame stepped inside, pausing at the sight of Bellamy's raised weapon.

Raven glowered. "Did I say you could touch my tools?"

Bellamy let out a breath and dropped it, the sound of its impact echoing around the room. "I don't care. If you'd been a guard, you'd be feeling it against your skull right now."

Her glare turned into a sneer. "Do I really need to remind you who's covering for your sorry-?"

"Were you able to get what you needed for the feed?" Clarke interjected, cutting Raven off. The mechanic kept her eyes on Bellamy's for a moment longer before finally turning away from him. She looked at Clarke and held up a handful of wires. "Yup. I can't hack into the mainframe and send it out as a mandatory message because, like I said, I'm not a technician. But I'm pretty sure I can do it manually."

Clarke studied the tangled glob. "How long will we have before the Council shuts it down?"

Raven shrugged, tilting her head back and forth in deliberation. "Few minutes. Maybe longer. I can try a private line which may buy you some time, but not much. It's too bad I didn't study more on electrical engineering, but I don't like engineers."

Clarke wet her lips, furrowing her brows as she weighed her options. The anxiety was still there, stronger than it had been last night, but she willed herself to breathe past the knot forming in her stomach. "Is there any way to ensure it gets out?"

"You could go outside and wave a flag," Raven said sarcastically, but then shook her head. "If you send out the message from a known user rather than an anonymous one, it might make the Council less suspicious. But even that won't last more than a few seconds."

"What if they thought it was from Abby Griffin?" Clarke asked carefully, gauging Raven's reaction.

Her dark eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm not interested in getting your Mom into trouble."

"It won't be coming from my Mom. And I'll make sure the Council knows that. Using her account will give me automatic authorization that an unknown user won't have."

Bellamy looked looked over at her, brown eyes meeting her own. "What do you mean you'll make sure the Council knows it's not from your Mom?"

But Clarke just shook off his question and stared expectantly at Raven, who was chewing on her lower lip. "Do you know Abby's security ID?"

Clarke nodded, earning a surprised look from both Bellamy and Raven. "She inputted it daily for her patient logs," she explained. "I'd also like to record the last part of the feed instead of run it live. Is that possible?"

Raven gestured to the area around her. "No can do, Miss Fugitive. I know it makes it harder to trace a recording rather than a live feed, but I don't exactly have all the necessary equipment to make any promises."

Clarke sighed, but acquiesced nonetheless. Her heartbeat picked up. "So where do we do this?" She was ready. As ready as she'd ever be.

Raven held up a hand. "Reel it in a few steps, Clarke. I still have to set up. But you can help by untangling this mess." She glanced over at Bellamy. "You too, Shooter."

Clarke shook her head before he could say anything. "No, he doesn't," she said, as she took a few of the entwined wires from Raven. "This is on me."

But she couldn't stilt her surprise when Bellamy grabbed some of the wires himself and got to work across from her.

* * *

An hour later, the previously mangled pile of wire rested in individual rows, and Raven began hooking everything up to an archaic machine in the back.

Clarke appraised it. She knew what computers looked like, but everything now was either touch-screen or holographic imaging. This piece of equipment was at least thirty years old. Frankly, she was a little shocked that it still worked.

"Give me that port screen," Raven said and Clarke handed over the tablet she'd taken from her father's office. Raven plugged something in the base of it and connected the other end to the computer.

"How much longer?" Clarke asked. She felt antsy, and without something else to do, was finding it difficult to sit still. She was fidgety and her impatience was beginning to best her.

Raven let out an exasperated breath, typing something into the tablet. "Ever heard the saying 'we'll get there when we get there?' That's about how much longer."

Clarke ran a hand over her forehead. The Council could already be killing off people, casting them out into space. If she had a window to look at would she see someone's mother floating passed it?

Though Clarke would never admit it aloud, a tinny voice suggested she stop this. That she let the Council be the ones to murder residents rather than die of a possible panic, but either way they would be victims. And either way, Clarke would feel responsible.

Another hour went by and Clarke was on her last reserve of forbearance. She was almost annoyed that for once, Bellamy wasn't partaking in her aggravation, instead sitting in silence with his hands clasped tightly together.

When she couldn't take it anymore, Clarke stood from the cross-legged position she'd been resting in. "Raven-"

"Don't get your blonde hair in a twist, Repunzel," Raven said, glancing up at her from over the computer. "It's done."

Clarke's impatience was instantly replaced by a flood of panic, rushing into every part of her body, diluting her blood. She raised her chin a little higher as if to challenge it. On wobbly legs, she walked over to Raven and positioned herself in front of the tablet. Her father's face took up the entire screen and the sight offered her strength.

"The recording will give you a few minutes," Raven told her, keeping herself out of the tablet's frame. "But when it ends, it will turn live. That'll give you the chance to say whatever it is you want."

Bellamy's voice broke out behind them. "They'll be able to see her face."

"Yeah," Raven said, agreeing with him for the first time since they'd met. "Which means she can't stick around here for long."

Clarke didn't look away from her father as she said, "It doesn't matter anyway. The Council already knows who I am. My Dad didn't hide as he told the truth, so neither will I."

"Clarke..."

She turned to Raven. "Play it."

There was a button the tablet's surface, begging to be pressed. Clarke wasn't even surprised by it; all the hard moments in her life included buttons.

One quick tap was all it took, and her father's words chimed inside the workroom. He'd died trying to get this video out. The attempt had cost him his life but at least now, it hadn't been taken in vain.

 _My name is Jake Griffin..._ He said, in a voice she'd heard a thousand times before. It was the same one that had told her bedtime stories as a child. The same one that had called checkmate on his day off. It was the same voice that had made her feel safe.

 _Today, I need to talk to you about our future..._

Clarke watched the screen intently, imagining her father's face on every screen, his words sounding down the corridors, demanding to be heard even after death.

 _The Ark...is dying._

 _...Time is running out..._

 _...Now, while there is still time, we need to come together..._

 _...I believe it will bring out the best in us-our strength, our humanity, our faith..._

 _In this time of uncertainty._

The video ended, and her father's face disappeared. A moment later, her own features materialized on the screen, reflecting back. Blue eyes, so very like her father's, sparkled under the light.

Clarke swallowed.

"My Dad was killed for trying to warn us of the Ark's current condition." Despite the fear wreaking havoc inside her, Clarke's voice was strong, inspired by her father's words. "He was killed for knowing the truth and for wanting to share it with all of you. But he was never able to until now. It isn't hard to figure out that people will be sacrificed to extend our oxygen supply, but I wanted to give you a chance to decide that much for yourself. The future doesn't belong to the Chancellor or the Council. It belongs to all of us, and I'm hoping the same as my Dad did. That in light of this crisis, we will come together and that no one's life will have to be taken from them. That you will choose what to give it for; your children, your loved ones. For humanity." Clarke took a shaky breath. "May we meet again."

Raven pressed the button a second time and the face looking back at them froze before the screen went dark.

Clarke released a breath she hadn't known she was holding, and expected some huge surge of relief. Some sense of accomplishment. But there was none, and for a moment nobody spoke. Then Clarke was on her feet, heading straight for the door.

Before she reached it, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and she whipped around, meeting Bellamy's intense gaze. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I need to see for myself," Clarke said. _I need to see what happens._

Incredulity clouded his dark eyes. "Are you out of your mind? Your face was just shown on every Station. You go out there and you won't be coming back."

Something ferocious blazed in his eyes, but Clarke just yanked herself out of his hold. Though Raven was watching her as well, the mechanic stayed quiet.

"Bellamy," Clarke said, and for once she wasn't calm. She let the desperation into her voice. She let her emotions bleed in front of him. "This is what I stayed behind to do. This _is the reason I'm here._ "

"So now that you've finished with your first priority you don't mind a little suicide mission?"

Her gaze skirted from his before meeting it again. "It's easier," Clarke admitted. "I'm not trying to get myself killed. But this is something that I need to do."

He shook his head in disbelief. "And what if you're caught? How do I know you won't tell the Council I'm here?"

For some inexplicable reason, the accusation stung. Clarke had thought they were onto something last night; something like friendship, but it was clear she had been wrong. "I won't tell them. I _wouldn't_."

Bellamy took a step closer, until he was towering above her, head bent over hers. His tone became something cold, a stark contrast to the fire kindling in his eyes. "I told you I don't want to owe you anything."

"Well that's something you don't have to worry about. If I'm caught, they'll just float me. And you can't repay a debt to the dead."

That made him pause and Clarke used to opportunity to turn away from him. She opened the door.

"You're making a huge mistake," Bellamy said as she stepped over the threshold. Clarke looked back at him, at the anger still lining his features but it was mixed with something else. Something she couldn't quite place.

A ribbon of sadness wound tautly around her chest. "I hope you make it back to your sister," she said.

Then the door slid shut between them.


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Bellamy

**I think the most challenging thing with this story is speeding up the chemistry between Clarke and Bellamy. Does it sound like it's moving too fast, with Bellamy's "feelings" at all? Even though they're not quite feelings yet... I don't have two seasons to work with, but I DO think under these circumstances, their relationship would move faster than on the ground as leaders. Because here they only have each other. Does that make sense? Oh, and has anyone seen the new season 3 trailer? (Screams) Sorry. Pleease review!**

Bellamy stared at the door until his anger ran dry. He didn't realize his hands were clenched until he noticed the sting from bitten palms. He instantly loosened his grip, trying to shrug off whatever it was that had gotten into him.

If Clarke wanted to die, then so be it. If she wanted to pointlessly hand her life over to the Council by walking out exposed and vulnerable into their sights, that was fine by him. She had left behind the Amoxicillin and he'd remembered the dosage. Since he'd found the pod, their agreement had reached its end. Bellamy, as of now, relied on her for nothing.

"She might be able to do it," the mechanic said from behind him and he ground his teeth, turning away from the door. "No," he snapped. "The Princess has just walked in front of the firing squad."

Bellamy moved past Raven as if he were going somewhere, but then it hit him that he had no where to go. He couldn't leave the room. What he really wanted right now was to take a closer look at the pod, but he couldn't risk it with her leering over his shoulder.

Raven scoffed, causing Bellamy to look over at her. "Clarke just got in front of thousands of people to tell them what the Council doesn't have the guts to. She risked a mass panic, maybe even a civil war to say that. Sure, I've known her about a day, but I wouldn't underestimate her." A nonchalant shrug. "She definitely has Abby's blood, with a backbone like that."

A backbone. Did it take a backbone to send a girl's father out to space? Bellamy stared at her. "I wouldn't be so quick to compare the two of them if I were you," he said darkly.

Raven studied him, one hand on her hip. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He rested against the wall, breaking away from her gaze. "Whatever you want it to."

* * *

Raven worked on the pod in silence, but sometimes the sound of twisting gears and gadgets would cease, as if she didn't know what to do next. It made Bellamy wonder if her fixing up the ship was just a hoax to throw him off. But she was an idiot if she thought he was about to let go that quickly. Bellamy knew what he wanted, so every once in awhile, he would sneak glances over to the pod, trying to note the mechanics of it in in case he had to take it by force. It would be an ignoble thing to do, but if he was willing to shoot the Chancellor to get to the ground, he'd deprive a young girl the product of her hard work.

 _You've always done what you had to do to protect your sister, didn't you? That's who you are._

If only Clarke knew how wrong she was. It would certainly make his actions seem more justified but that didn't make them right. And it certainly didn't earn him forgiveness.

Bellamy tugged his fingers through his hair, feeling annoyed at the random thought of her. But with it, brough something else: The image of Clarke being floated rose up in his mind, unbidden. He could see it clearly, how her body would be sucked back into that endless void, where no hand would reach for her this time.

He pushed it away.

When Bellamy had first met her, he'd taken her for some privileged, incapable girl that had everything handed to her on a golden platter. Her education, her freedoms, her status. Her people were the reason for his people's poverty. They had less so that her kind could have more, but to pin that on Clarke was like blaming Octavia for his mom's actions; it wasn't fair.

An uncomfortable feeling gnawed in the pit of Bellamy's stomach. It was what had him continually glancing at the door, waiting for it to open. But that just made him irritated with himself. Clarke didn't even matter to him and regardless of her current predicament, his original impression was right. Once, she had once been pampered. Ignorant. Both a burden and an inconvenience to him.

But despite that, Bellamy had to admit that she was other things, too. She was smart and innovative. She thought well under pressure, and did what she believed in, even if she paid for it in blood. She did the right things the right way while he did the right thing all the wrong ways.

Their morals set them worlds apart, in the one truth that as Bellamy was willing to kill for his sister, Clarke was willing to die for her people.

 _That's who you are_ , the words repeated in a loop. Bellamy shook his head. If this was who he was, then Clarke was much better than him.

And he hated that.

"Hand me those pliers over there, will you?" Raven's voice cut through to him, holding out a hand from the pod. Bellamy thought about just ignoring her, but then he considered that this could be his chance to get a closer look at the pod.

He shoved off the wall and wandered over to her, grabbing the metal tool off the floor. He slapped it into her palm. "So how exactly does this thing run?" Bellamy asked coolly.

Raven let out a snort. "Right. Like I'm going to give you tips on how to man my ship. Not the brightest crayon in the box, are you?"

Bellamy glowered at her back. It'd be easy to take it now, be even he wouldn't risk hijacking a broken escape pod. Unless that had been a lie to begin with. His frustration piqued. "You mentioned some kind of pressure thing didn't you?"

Raven pulled herself out so abruptly that Bellamy had to move to the side to keep out of her way. Her eyes flashed with warning, belying the hint of a smile on her face. "Pressure regulator," she explained. "And no, it's not important. Unless you're aspiring to die a very painful way by air bubbles in the brain and all. If that's the case then be my guest." She waved her fingers at him. "Pop, pop."

Bellamy pursed his lips, unamused. He rapped his knuckles on the pod's frame, trying a different angle. "You sure a hunk of metal like this will hold?"

Raven stepped towards him. "That's the dream," she said, and shoved him back from the pod. "And keep your delinquent hands off that hunk of metal."

Bellamy was about to say something in reply to that. But then she wagged her eyebrows, conspiratorial as if to say, _do you really want to push me?_ And he remembered that she was the one covering for him. If that still held in Clarke's absence.

He settled for a contemptuous glare.

It melted away though, as the sounds of approaching footsteps sounded from down the corridor, coming for them. Bellamy's back went ramrod straight. Fear prickled the hairs on his neck as he searched around the room for someplace to hide.

"Sheet," Raven said calmly and Bellamy's eyes snapped to a silvery curtain lying in a heap behind the pod. He snatched it up and ducked beneath it, just as the door opened.

Everything inside him went very still. Even his breath was squeezed from his lungs as he waited, listening from under the sheet. The footsteps stopped.

"Hey, you got the regulator," Raven said, her voice free of the scorn it held when she was speaking to him. But then the lightness in her tone diminished. "What's wrong?"

"Clarke," the other person who could only be Abby Griffin said. Bellamy tensed. He hadn't spoken to the Chief Medical Officer beyond his one physical that was required for all new cadets. But he still recognized her voice; could picture her in his mind. Chin raised, arms held tightly at her sides, eyes hard and authoritative.

Raven feigned ignorance. "What about her?"

"I find it hard to believe you missed the message," Abby deadpanned, but she didn't sound angry. On the contrary, she sounded defeated. "I know she's been here, Raven."

Bellamy felt his chest contract and he half-expected Raven to give him up. To toss him to the wolves that was the Council. But the mechanic just said, "I thought she was on the ground."

Abby sighed. "We don't have time for this. You have to install the regulator. _Now._ How long will it take for you to launch?"

Bellamy could practically feel Raven's hesitancy, tangible and thick as it bled through the sheet. "With the regulator? Maybe twenty minutes."

His hands tightened into fists. So she had lied. But he barely had enough time to process that before Abby said, "They'll be here in five."

 _What?_ His already cold blood turned to ice.

"The Guard?"

"Marcus. Nygel turned in the morphine I traded for the regulator."

Raven's voice turned incredulous. "You gave her morphine?"

" _Now_ , Raven."

Footsteps instantly moved across the floor and Bellamy felt the vibration of them under his hands.

"What about Clarke?" Raven asked, all pretenses gone as she got to work installing the equipment.

Abby hissed out a breath and Bellamy no longer recognized her unkempt voice. "I don't know where she is. She took a huge risk with Jake's recording. But...maybe it was for the best."

The screech of grating metal sounded from the pod. "Why?"

"Over three hundred people are going to be culled in less than twelve hours if we don't receive word that Earth is survivable. Oxygen levels are at twelve percent and I already have patients showing signs of hypoxia. I opted to have some of them put into a comatose state to decrease O2 intake but the Council refused."

"So they're just going to murder all those people?" Raven said, spitting the words in disgust.

"No. Not if you can make it down before then and radio us back," Abby said. "Then Jaha will launch Project Exodus as planned."

Bellamy struggled to keep his breathing shallow as to not look like anything other than some indiscernible piece of junk from the outside. Project Exodus; the ships that would bring everyone to Earth.

The sound of Raven's movements instantly ceased. "'Me?' You're coming down, too."

"There's no time. I can only buy you minutes." Abby's voice drew closer as she moved towards the pod. She drew in a slow breath. "Only one of us has to reach the ground, Raven."

"Abby..."

"You have to hurry. Three hundred lives depend on you."

By the clanking of metal, Bellamy could tell Raven had resumed her work. "No pressure," the mechanic hissed.

Bellamy's mind raced. That pod held two and now, there was a vacant spot. This was his chance, as surely as though God had carved it out just for him.

But the growl that ripped from Raven's mouth a second later pulled Bellamy out of his reverie. "She gave us a bad part!" She yelled.

The sound of footsteps receded and Bellamy didn't realize it was Abby moving away until her voice appeared by the door. "Find a way, Raven," she said. "You have to. I'll give you as long as I can."

"Abby-" But the door had already closed.

Bellamy waited a single heartbeat before pulling the sheet off and standing up.

Raven was halfway into the pod, slamming her fist against against a dial. He peered in from the opposite side, casting cursory glances at the door. "Looks like you're down a passenger," Bellamy chided.

Raven shot him a glare. "Regulator is a bust. Both of us would be dead within minutes."

"Could you substitute it with something else?"

Raven passed a hand over her forehead, slick with sweat. "I don't have enough parts to fabricate a regulator. No, I'd need some kind of protection, something durable enough to survive re-entry. The only thing like that though would be..." her eyes suddenly drew up, staring at something just passed Bellamy's shoulder. He turned around, following her gaze upwards to where another spacesuit hung. It wasn't like the ones he and Clarke had worn; this one was brown and obviously ancient.

He glanced back at Raven who was smiling at it. "Bingo," she mumbled.

Bellamy looked to where his own suit was lying, discarded on the floor. Understanding slowly pieces itself together and self-loathing suddenly erupted inside him, colored in vivid, ugly shades of regret. He'd left his helmet at the airlock and that one, fateful decision would cost him. That was it.

He had no alternative.

It was time to make another wrong.

In one fluid movement, Bellamy grabbed Raven, dragging her out of the pod by her legs. The suddenness took her by surprise, allowing him to get a good grip around her waist as he yanked her up. She thrashed against him, but Bellamy's hold was firm. He didn't want this, but it was the only way. _The only way._

He didn't want to hurt her so he used the wall as leverage, pinning her to it. A screwdriver was gripped in her hand and Bellamy wrested it out of her fingers, until it dropped to the floor.

"I knew it," Raven snapped at him, the accusation coated in venom. "I cover for you and this is what I get? I wonder why Clarke even bothered."

Bellamy shoved away his guilt. "I left my helmet in the airlock," he told her. And then he was speaking the words aloud. "This is the only way."

Raven didn't reply. The voices that appeared just outside the door instantly snagged both of their attention and Bellamy's eyes prang towards it. In the distance he could make out Abby's voice and someone else's. Deeper. Masculine. Marcus Kane.

Panic flared inside him and Bellamy exchanged a look between the spacesuit and Raven, still trapped beneath his arm.

Rage lit in her eyes. "If you launch, I die. You got lucky with Jaha, but this time you won't. This will be murder."

When he said nothing right away, her lip curled in revulsion. "Wow. You know you may be wanted by the Council, but you are no different from them."

His anger sparked, but it wasn't directed at her. It was directed at himself.

Raven was right. She wasn't like Jaha and Bellamy couldn't use the excuse that she deserved what she got. She was innocent, regardless of her snide remarks and haughty attitude.

For nearly a day, Bellamy's hands had been wiped of blood. Was he really that ready to dirty them again?

 _I wonder why Clarke bothered._ He hesitated.

Why _had_ she bothered? She wouldn't have if she knew what he was planning to do. What he _was_ doing. No, if Clarke saw him now, she'd take back every seemingly good thing she'd said of him. She'd see him as he once saw himself; a murderer. A monster.

He shut his eyes. _My sister. My responsibility._ "I don't...I don't want to do this."

The heat in Raven's gaze didn't lessen. "Then don't. It would be a waste to kill me now if the Exodus ships are just going to come down later. But if you take my place and mess this up, you won't just have my death on your hands. You'll have over three hundred, too."

Bellamy felt his resolve crumble. One death alone was a burden. But hundreds? His hands couldn't hold that much blood.

Raven glanced at the door, where the voices of Abby Griffin and Marcus Kane still echoed behind it. "If you're gonna decide, you better do it now, Shooter. Or should I say, Murderer."

Bellamy's anger doubled. It mixed with a myriad of other emotions; panic, fear, hatred, grief, even despair. It was cataclysmic, and it threatened to tear him apart.

 _You're not a killer, Bellamy._

No. For some reason, he'd been given the opportunity to make a different choice. A do-over, but he wasn't deciding it blind. This time he knew the weight that one word carried. _Killer._ If he went to the ground now, it would haunt him for the rest of his life, and dance over his grave.

Bellamy stared at Raven, his eyes boring into hers. "There's a girl," he said. "Of the One Hundred. Her name is Octavia Blake. I want you to find her. You tell her I'm coming."

Raven glared back a moment longer but Bellamy took it as acquiescence. He dropped his arm and moved back before she could try something. But she just picked up the wrench again and used it to smash the glass panel over the suit. Fragments rained across the floor, glimmering like diamonds, but Raven ignored them as she pulled the suit on.

"You'd better get out of here while you still can," she said, as she raised the helmet over her head. "It's about to get a little bumpy."

He wouldn't to be told twice. Bellamy moved to the door. He didn't need to look through the small window to know guards were just beyond it.

He took a deep breath. New plan, then. First, he'd make it past the guards. If he got that far, maybe he'd find Clarke, provided she wasn't already dead.

Bellamy raised his hand to the exit panel, praying he hadn't just let his only way to Earth slip through his fingers.

He pressed it.

The door slid open and he had a moment to absorb the scene before him-Abby opposing Marcus, with two guards at her sides. They stopped talking. Kane's gaze met his.

And then Bellamy was moving, breaking through the two guards that were sorely unprepared for him. Kane shouted something, but Bellamy was already halfway down the corridor, running for his life, for his own soul. Running as if all his ghosts had shed their nightmares and were now chasing after him.


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Clarke

**This. Chapter. Was. A. Pain. I just couldn't "see" it. I hope it doesn't show. This WAS going to be two chapters, but I needed it to be Clarke's perspective and I didn't want to add a Bellamy filler chapter because then it would've dragged. So I had to choose between rushed and dragged. But we're getting towards the climax so building tension and all. I _hope_ this doesn't feel rushed, but I always think what I write is rushed. *sings* I've got a lot goin' onnnn in this chapterrr. Please review!**

The corridors were silent. No shouts reverberated down the throats of them. No pounding feet sounded from around her. It was quiet. Haunted by the approaching shadow of death. Clarke suddenly felt guilty for her surprise over it. _This was what I wanted,_ she reminded herself. Hours had elapsed since she'd left the workroom, taking refuge in vacant areas and avoiding people. She was still in Mecha, but as another hour dragged by with no visible signs of change, Clarke was beginning to wonder if her message had even done anything.

 _You're making a huge mistake._

Clarke felt a pang in her chest. No, she didn't doubt what she was doing was the right thing, but she didn't like how she'd left it with Bellamy. Or how he had, for that matter. It anything though, Bellamy probably felt relieved that at least for now, he no longer had to deal with her. Yes she'd saved his life but it was always easier to keep track of one person opposed to two.

Clarke swatted the thought away. Already she was feeling her discouragement gaining momentum, her hopes turning to dust as she skirted down the corridors, carefully, quietly. She was debating to just go back to the workroom, but that in itself was its own risk. She'd left. That was her decision, and she stuck to it as she turned down another corridor.

And stopped.

Clarke blinked.

It took her a minute to process what she was seeing. A line of people-no, a crowd of them-was moving downwards to the Factory Station, like a steady current. Shoulders brushed each others's and for a good minute, Clarke felt confused. Then her eyes roved over the mass, her gaze dropping to the hands clutching an assortment of sentimental belongings-photographs, necklaces, wedding rings, crosses. So many people, lining up...to die.

The realization hit her square in the chest, the force of it almost knocking her over. A sob mounted in her throat, but she didn't let it out. This was what her father had believed their people capable of. Unconditional love, not for the Council or even Earth. It was for each other, for the families they were choosing to leave behind.

 _You were right, Dad,_ Clarke thought as she stared at the people, transfixed. But she didn't feel any pride over this. No, the emotion that was steadily growing louder, screaming over all the others, was guilt. _I should be with them_. It was a fleeting thought, but it became bigger with each passing second. She was the one who had delivered the message. She was the one who had told the Ark its fate. Her father died for it. Why shouldn't she?

Her life had completed its priority. If she died, someone else would live. It could be that simple...

Clarke nearly stepped forward, into the crowd, when something else caught her attention. Guards. And they were escorting someone, led by Marcus Kane. They went against the current of people, pulling along a shorter person, with darker hair swinging behind her.

 _Mom?_ Clarke stumbled. What had she done? She was supposed to be on the escape pod with Raven. _Had Bellamy-?_

 _No._ There had to be another reason. There _had_ to be. Against her better judgment, Clarke walked into the line, keeping her head bowed as she tried to move down it. She felt eyes on her but she wouldn't look up. She wouldn't. She wouldn't. She wouldn't.

Clarke peeked ahead, just enough to glimpse her Mom. That one action made her lose focus and she suddenly collided with something hard. An item dropped to the floor and it was instinct that had her reaching down, for the purple clip that had fallen from the person's grip. Clarke grabbed it and returned it to the hand it belonged to. Survival told her to move back, to keep her head bowed and her face shielded from this possible threat. But this person was handing over their life, and that one thought was enough to draw her gaze up, to the man standing in front of her.

He was older, by the lines in his features and his thinning red hair. She didn't have to ask to know the clip probably belonged to his daughter. Before she could step around him, subtle surprise sparked in his eyes, the color she imagined grass to be. She stiffened, and waited for him to call out to the guards. To draw attention to the both of them.

But he simply said in a quiet voice, "Your father would be proud."

Emotion thickened in her throat and she could only manage a nod before the man started walking again, disappearing through the throng as if he'd never existed. But Clarke would make sure to remember him.

She moved in the opposite direction of the man, easing her way through the people and keeping her eyes down. Clarke pushed to the side until she was pressed against the wall. She sneaked a glance at Kane, who was still escorting the two guards holding her mom. Abby's head dipped in and out of sight but Clarke followed after.

She was just about to cut down the next corridor when an invisible force abruptly pulled her back. A hand went over her mouth and Clarke was dragged inside an empty corridor, losing sight of her mom.

She kicked,-and connected with someone's leg. Whoever it was hissed out a breath and they whirled her around by the shoulders to face them.

Clarke was prepared for a guard. For someone interested in turning her over to the Council. But when she met brown eyes, her thoughts froze in place.

She gaped up at Bellamy, the sight of him actually rendering her speechless. For a second, they just stared at each other, him staring down at her from under long lashes that cast shadows over his cheekbones.

Clarke closed her mouth. "What...What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for _you_ ," he said plainly. "Raven's gone."

She paused, overwhelmed by the amount of information she'd accumulated in such a short period. "You...let her go?"

This made him glare at her, as if she'd accused him of foul play. "It doesn't matter if I did. We're all headed to the ground anyway."

Clarke's initial shock hadn't even faded yet and this wasn't helping. "What?"

"Jaha wants to launch the Exodus ships. That's if Raven makes it to the ground and gives them the thumbs up that Earth is survivable. And hopefully she'll do that before the Culling."

"But..." Clarke didn't know what to say, still processing the fact that he was here. In front of her. Not on the ground. "My Mom. I _saw_ her. You could've gone-"

"No," Bellamy said pointedly, brown eyes darkening. "I couldn't have. But I already have a plan."

Clarke raised her eyebrows. Neither of their plans ever deigned to be rational. She wasn't counting on that starting now. "Which is?"

His voice dropped to a whisper as he looked at her. Really looked at her, and Clarke saw that same flash of something she'd caught in the workroom, before the closing door had cut it off. And then it hit her-it was that fierceness, that protectiveness. The kind he got when he was talking about his sister. But he wasn't now. Now, he was talking to her.

"We're going to sneak onto one of the ships."

Clarke stared at him, ignoring the sudden urge to make a joke. She even found herself swallowing back a laugh. "We can't do that. Those ships are guarded, Bellamy. Not to mention the attention we'd attract going down to-"

"I doubt many will take notice during the Unity Day Celebration," he interjected, a glint sparking in his eyes. "Everyone will be too preoccupied, including the Council and the Guard."

But Clarke shook her head. "It's always held in the Mess Hall. The closest Exodus ship is held on the other side of it."

He didn't share in her concern. "Maybe all those people are the perfect cover. No one would be looking at us. It's the perfect chance to slip through their defenses."

Defenses. As if this were a war.

She sighed. "Bellamy..."

"Clarke, I'm going to be on that ship," he said, voice radiating determination. "Now you're free to come, bu that's up to you."

There were other worries nagging at her though. "But my Mom-"

"Oh, please," he chastised. "Jaha is not going to float one of his best doctors. Not right now at least. Screw the Council's rules."

Clarke considered this. A part of her didn't want to care. A small part of her didn't. But even thought it was true her Mom had played a vital role in getting her Dad executed, she was the last piece of family Clarke had left, however broken it was.

And his theory was reasonable, his words providing her a small comfort.

"Fine," she said. "But we need to make sure Raven radios the Ark back."

It was his turn to look surprised. "And how do you plan on finding that out?"

Clarke answered by glancing back around to the line of people.

Bellamy gave her a warning look, lips pursed into a thin line. She expected him to fight with her on it, but he obviously didn't think there was any point in arguing because he started with her around the bend. They meshed with the crowd, staying to the sides. Bellamy stuck to the walls, and like her, kept his eyes cast downward. The act didn't seem natural on him and Clarke almost wished he wasn't here.

Almost.

To be honest, Clarke liked having him near her again. She liked not going in this alone, and though Bellamy was coarse and abrasive, he had a brutal honesty about him that she liked. She'd been lied to enough in her life.

They followed the line of people out of Mecha and, as Clarke had predicted, into the Factory Station. She looked up.

Sect 17 was choked with people. Old, middle-aged; Clarke's heart pinched at the sight of some younger folks; still new to life, who had years ahead of them, we're now prepared to give it all up for everyone else.

That guilt came back to her, roaring so loudly it made her hearing dim. _Come on, Raven._

Through the mass, Clarke could make out Jaha, standing in front of them all. She knew that Bellamy had seen him too, by the sudden color that drained from his face.

On the left side of the room stood a heavy steel door, and Clarke's eyes landed on the metal wheel just beside it. She didn't need anyone to explain to her what it did; she knew it was the mechanism that would cut off the air. Already, people were moving forward to shake Jaha's hand before stepping through that door.

Clarke fisted her hands, not looking away from the people as they entered the other room, one by one.

"Why hasn't she radioed yet?" She asked quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

Bellamy tensed beside her. "I don't know. She should've by now."

Clarke tore her gaze from the people and looked sidelong at him. "What exactly happened in the workroom? Did you really just...let her go?" She didn't want to accuse him of anything, but she found it hard to believe he really would've just let the pod leave that easily. That was his way to his sister, and Clarke knew he'd rather die than give that up willingly.

His eyes cut to her, jaw clenched. "Nothing that would've made getting to the ground any harder," he said ambiguously.

Clarke felt like there was more to it, but she let it go, for now, drawn back to the dozens of people stepping onto their own scaffold. Fear trickled down her spine as she stared, waiting for Jaha, for someone, to stop them. But nobody did, and soon the line began to thin as they disappeared into the other room.

No. _No. No. No._ "Raven, _come on_." What happened? Had she died during entry? Had she lost the radio? But _why_ didn't really even matter. She fact remained that she hadn't radioed them yet. Or maybe she had, and the Council was still choosing to kill hundreds of its own people.

Without realizing what she was doing, Clarke stepped forward. An arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back, keeping her from going any farther. "You've already done everything you could do for them, Clarke," Bellamy said, his usually sardonic tone now solemn.

Clarke's vision blurred and desperation churned in her, but she knew he was right. She shook her head sadly. "Three hundred people, Bellamy..."

"I know."

Sudden fury engulfed her. "The Council should've done something years ago. It should _never_ have come to this. It's wrong. It's all wrong."

"You're right," he whispered, loosening his arm but he didn't remove it from her waist. "But you gave them their lives back, even if it was just for a second. It's their choice. Don't try and take it from them."

Clarke knew there was nothing she could do to manage that anyway, but it didn't ease her disgust. It did nothing to lessen the weight of goodbyes that were filling this hall. It did nothing to quell the truth that children would soon be made orphans.

"No one should have to die so that we can live," she said fervidly.

Bellamy exhaled, his breath tickling her ear. He didn't say anything as she watched the last person step inside the room. Watched as it was sealed shut behind them. Clarke didn't want to see anymore but she forced herself to keep her eyes on Jaha, who grabbed the wheel on the wall and started to turn it.

A shuddering breath rippled in her chest and her voice finally broke. "They deserved better."

"Yeah," Bellamy agreed. "Yeah, they did."

* * *

They decided to keep a low profile until Unity Day arrived, two days after the Culling. In the empty storeroom that Bellamy had found, Clarke sat with her knees pulled into her chest, staring off into the distance. She was trying not to think of bodies or broken families, but it wasn't working. Not even her father's watch was helping her keep the images away.

Bellamy didn't sit on the opposite side of the room like he usually did. This time, he sat next to her, head resting against the wall as he looked off into his own direction. The quietness was heavy between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Sometimes their shared silence conveyed what neither wanted or could put into words.

When Clarke managed to sleep, nightmares plagued her, full of sentimental objects and closing doors. She imagined herself stepping into that room, too, clutching her father's watch as she waited for death.

She didn't cry for them, though. She wanted to, but tears weren't needed to grieve for the dead. There would be enough from those three hundred families.

Bellamy tried to say something once or twice, but neither of them seemed eager to talk and that first day passed them by in silence, as quiet as that room in Sect 17 must have been. Had they already disposed of them? Clarke knew those people would be floated. Three hundred bodies would meet the stars. She wondered what the sight would look like from Earth.

It was an unsettling thought that tossed her into another fitful sleep, into a nightmare of her drifting through space where the stars around her weren't stars, but bodies. Their faces turned towards her, unseeing eyes gazing into her own. Objects floated around her. Pieces of jewelry. Those crosses. A tiny purple clip suspended in the dark.

* * *

"Maybe it was me," Bellamy said on the second day, so quietly Clarke wondered if she'd even heard him. She was lying down but pulled herself up, facing Bellamy who was staring down at his hands, as if he expected them to do something against his will.

"What?" She asked.

He didn't meet her gaze. "Maybe it was my fault they're dead," he whispered, "You were right; I didn't just let Raven go at first. I almost took the pod. I was this close to leaving her there to die. Maybe I knocked the radio out. Maybe if I hadn't..." He faltered.

Clarke stared at him. Maybe was a big word. _Almost_ as big as _if_. They tormented, they plagued, and they were always difficult to shake. "This wasn't your fault, Bellamy," she said softly.

He finally looked at her. In his eyes burned anger and something that took Clarke a second to place. Fear, she realized. The fear of himself. "You don't know that."

"You weren't the one who ordered the Culling," she replied. "You weren't the one who closed the door. They gave their lives so that everyone on this ship could live. They did it for their families. Yeah, it probably could've been avoided. But there's no way for us to know how. Don't blame yourself for their deaths. This was still the Council. And they're the ones that will have to live with it."

He stared at her. "After my Mom was floated, I only ever had my sister that mattered to me."

Clarke nodded. "And you'll make it back to her."

Bellamy was quiet for a moment, but seemed to accept her words. "Maybe one day you'll get to meet her."

Clarke smiled. "Maybe."

* * *

The Celebration arrived the following day. Clarke tightened and untightened her hands anxiously, until half moons bit into her palms. Though she couldn't hear anything, she imagined the sound of music and pounding feet coming from the Mess Hall. Dances and the excited squeals coming from kids.

Resentment lit inside her. It felt wrong to hold such a large celebration after so much death.

Bellamy stood by the door, glancing out the circular window. "I'm going to check if they've started yet," he said. "You wait inside."

"We've already covered that I don't take orders from you."

"Then consider it a request if that makes you feel any better." He looked over at her and his tone became stern. "Stay here."

Clarke wanted to object, but before she could, he slipped out the door.

She released a breath and started pacing around the room, hands on her hips, eyes on the floor. If Bellamy's plan actually followed through, soon the both of them would be on the Exodus ship. Even if Raven hadn't radioed back, air was still running out and the Ark's options had already been reduced to only one alternative: return to the ground.

Guilt still rattled inside her at the thought of stowing away in a seat that would be meant for someone else and Clarke wished that she had someone on the ground to get back to. There was Wells, of course. Innocent Wells, who'd done nothing but protect her from the truth about her mom. She hoped she could make it to the ground if only to apologize to him.

Minutes passed and Clarke found her thoughts turn to that man she'd run into. _Your father would be proud._

Doubt filled her. Would he be? Would he say that what she was doing was the right thing? Would he smile at her and offer her a high-five? She knew he would want her to live. But would he want her to live like this?

The sound of the door opening snapped her out of her reverie and Clarke looked up at Bellamy.

Except it wasn't Bellamy.

Clarke stopped. Her joints locked in place, frozen over by the sight of blue eyes in a guard's uniform. A flurry of questions ran through her mind, but they were scattered, fractured like glass. The room's temperature dropped as she stared at Soren, looking the same as always. Combat boots. The Council seal over his chest. His white-blonde hair impeccably slicked back. Except for the gun; his holster was empty.

In the second his gaze found hers, he almost seemed surprise to see her, but the look instantly diffused, replaced by...glee. It was the most animated she'd ever seen him.

"Well, well," he clucked, stepping farther into the room. Clarke unfroze and took a step back. "It seems I've hit the jackpot."

Clarke mustered up a look of resignation. "How did you-?"

"Find you?" he finished. Another step. "I was just doing some rounds. You see, I've been put on probation thanks to _someone's_ mishap. But maybe it was a good thing, because otherwise I wouldn't have seen Jaha's shooter disappear around the corner and I wouldn't have raised the alarm before looking in here. But if I'm going to be honest, you were the last thing I expected to find." His eyes narrowed. "Partnering with the likes of him? My, haven't you gone a bit rogue."

Clarke walked back more, but he just approached her faster. She looked for something to use to defend herself with, but there was just boxes. Nothing useful. And she knew he would die before letting her get away again.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused me?" Soren asked calmly, but anger leaked into his voice, dark and cold as if cut from ice. It matched the glacial color of his eyes. "The dishonor your escape alone brought on me? I was demoted. I lost my team's respect..." He moved closer and Clarke had nowhere to go but to the wall. She pressed herself against it, the steel kissing her spine.

"To think in the airlock chamber, I actually thought I'd killed you. So you can imagine my surprise when your face appeared on my screen in that latest stunt of yours."

Clarke clamored to keep the panic at bay. To look unfazed. It was difficult, though, to stare down a man taller than herself. "Trouble?" she asked, not bothering to keep the disgust out of her voice. "You really want to talk about cost? You lost a _position_. Those people lost their lives."

In all the times Clarke had been greeted by Soren, she never once saw the man smile. But he did now, and it was derisive as it crept over his thin lips, splitting his face open."So we lose a few low-class scum. Only the expendable die. It's why your father's dead, after all."

He was all ice, yet the words scorched. Clarke didn't often wish people dead. But in this moment, she wished it on him. She knew what he wanted from her; he wanted her fear and her anger, to glean some sort of reaction out of her. He wanted her to cower in front of him and beg for her life. But Clarke was already here, in his grasp. She had nothing else to lose.

"I'm not afraid of you," Clarke said, tilting her chin up in defiance. "I won't even hate you, because you're not worth that much. No," she took a step towards him. "The only thing you'll be getting from me, is my pity."

The air in her throat suddenly disappeared and her back hit the wall. It took her a second to realize that his hand was wrapped around her neck, choking her. Killing her. Instinct reigned and she clawed at his hands as stars dusted over her vision.

His eyes blazed with cold fury and, to her horror, something despicably close to satisfaction. Right then, he looked like the wolfish monsters only found in children's books."The Council will just float you anyway," he said dismissively. "I think killing you now will simply save us all time."

A gurgling noise pushed between her lips and Clarke watched as her vision began to tunnel, darkening at the edges.

With one hand, Soren tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, an endearing move as he tightened his hold over her throat.

"I don't find pleasure in killing people, Griffin," he said, but the look in his gaze was enough to say otherwise. "I find it in putting people in their place; giving them what they deserved, whether that be a cell in the Sky Box or a one-way ticket out to space. I take pleasure in order. And I can't have someone like you screwing it up."

Clarke couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. The stars had grown bigger, clustering into one, huge pit of darkness that expanded over her vision.

"Make sure to give my hello to your Daddy for me."

The novas exploded, but just before blacking out, Clarke thought she heard her name being called. For a second, she thought it was her Dad, but this didn't sound like him. It still had the similar affect as his, though. Despite the air bleeding out of her lungs, it made her feel safe.

A crash sounded. Suddenly the hand over her throat disappeared as something collided against Soren, knocking him to the ground.

Clarke dropped to her knees and dragged in painful breaths, the air like fire as it burned its way down. The haze receded from her vision and she looked over at Soren, where he was being pressed into the floor by Bellamy.

Feeling disoriented, Clarke didn't trust what she was seeing, but real or not, instincts overrode her reason and she moved towards them. "Bellamy, stop," she said. Or tried to say; it was indiscernible, coming out high pitched and broken.

She cleared her throat, and it felt as if nails were raking down the insides of her esophagus. "Bellamy!" This time it was a little more clear and he paused, fist raised above Soren, ready to land another blow.

Bellamy looked over to her, his usually brown eyes now black.

But Clarke just shook her head. "Don't."

Bellamy glared at her. "He deserves to die."

"Not at the expense of us," she wheezed, and looked back at the door. "Leave him, Bellamy. We have to go."

He stayed there for another second before turning his gaze back on Soren, the once stoic guard now crumpled beneath him. Bellamy grabbed him by the scruff of his uniform and dragged his face forward. They were like polar opposites, their stark features clashing together. One was bright, the other was dark. One was made of ice and the other of fire. "You better hope for your sake that I don't see you again," Bellamy said.

Then Bellamy pulled himself up and looked back at Clarke. He quickly moved over to her, gaze sweeping over her neck, scanning for worse injuries. When he found none, he gave her a curt nod.

They broke into a sprint, down the corridor and towards the Mess Hall where the celebration was being held. Forget her fears of being seen.

After that, there was no doubt in her mind that Soren was already coming.

"Long ago, when the Earth was on fire, Twelve Stations floated through space, all alone. Then one day, _Mir_ floated by _Shenzhen_ , and they realized life would be better together..."

As they entered the Mess Hall, Clarke's gaze landed on a little girl glimpsed between the throngs of people. She stood in the middle of an orbiting circle of children, reciting the Unity Story as different flags swam around her, stars and stripes smearing by in a mix of vivid colors.

Clarke and Bellamy pushed forward, moving around the groups of people. Like Bellamy had said, they weren't focused on them. They were focused on the girl, delivering the Story strong and clear.

"The other stations saw this, and they wanted to be together too," she continued. "When all the other Stations were joined they called themselves..." The girl smiled, ready to speak the last lines.

That was when the room exploded.

Clarke caught the blinding flash of light as sparks erupted overhead. The floor beneath her suddenly disappeared and she was launched back, back-until her body connected with the wall. The breath was knocked out of her and she slid to the floor limply, distantly aware of a throbbing pain in her skull. Screams filled her ears, the sound wrapped around her head like cotton.

Once again, shadows danced across of her vision, taunting. Inviting. Her eyes grew heavy and Clarke didn't even try to fight them. This time, she welcomed the shadows, the distant screams lulling her into their embrace.

And the world went dark.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Bellamy

**Merry almost Christmas! Okay, so like the show, I'm hoping to convey Bellamy's feelings more through action than actual words. And dang, I keep changing what I want to do with this fic; I never even thought about including this part. Oh, and side note: if no one experiences Bellarke feels in this chapter, I'm quitting fanfiction to take up knitting. Please review!**

A ringing tore at Bellamy's ears. It numbed him to other sounds, if any existed, and his vision blurred, the tang of smoke stinging his eyes. The pungent stench of something burning filled the air.

Bellamy was lying on his back, staring up at the metallic ceiling. It took a minute for understanding to dawn on him. The Exodus ship. The explosions.

Slowly, he pulled himself up, blinking to clear out the haze. In front of him, the Mess Hall was unrecognizable. People littered the floor around him, faces streaked with grime and tracked with tears. Some were sitting like him, others were lying down, emotionless. Lifeless.

A thought hit him, disturbingly cold in the hot room. _Clarke._

Bellamy surveyed the area, the ringing in his ears already dulling enough for screams and cries of pain to penetrate through. He caught the sight of red and tried not to linger on it long, turning in a full circle.

He suddenly paused at the wall behind him, on the limp figure that lay at the base of it. Blonde hair spilled over the ground and a bad feeling settled in Bellamy's chest, but he forced himself to move. Pain shot up his spine but he promptly ignored it. He didn't waste any time. He didn't even have to look to know it was her, and a blast a fear rattled through him, at the thought of what he might find.

Her hair covered her face and with gentle fingers, Bellamy gingerly swept it back. He swallowed. Definitely Clarke.

He cupped the side of her head, careful not to jostle it in case of injury. Her eyes were closed and when he supported her head he felt something wet. He pulled back his fingers, now slick with blood.

That fear intensified.

"Clarke?" he asked low but forcefully. "Clarke, can you hear me?"

Her lids fluttered and Bellamy let out a quiet sigh of relief. "You're gonna be fine," he told her, unsure if she could even hear him. He tried to consider what the best way was to handle this, even finding himself asking what Clarke would do. But that offered little help; he wasn't the doctor in their partnership.

Either way, Bellamy knew sitting in the middle of a group of hurt people waiting for the rest of the Guard to show up was not the best idea, so he carefully slid an arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back. He hefted her up, pulling her close to his chest.

His legs shook but didn't buckle as Bellamy took a few cautious steps forward, glancing back to make sure no one was watching him. They weren't; everyone was too preoccupied. Tending to the hurt, the bleeding, the dying. Bellamy could have sworn he caught sight of Kane kneeling over an older woman.

Bellamy shuffled forward and when he looked down, he nearly tripped. A body blocked his path and he almost bent over to check on them but stopped when he saw the person's face.

It was that guard, the one that had attacked Clarke. The one Bellamy had wanted to kill. It seemed he didn't have to bother after all; Bellamy stared at the piece of warped metal that stuck from the guard's neck. Puddles of dark red dampened the floor around his upper body, dyeing his blonde hair a brilliant scarlet. Blue eyes stared up into nothing, and Bellamy couldn't even bring himself to feel sympathy for the dead man. In fact, the only thing he felt was a small bit of resentment, in the dark wish that he hadn't been the one to kill him himself.

Putting that out of his mind, Bellamy kept walking until he reached the outer corridor and went into the nearest room, unconcerned with any people being inside it. Most Arkers were gathered in the Mess Hall anyway, and the ones that weren't usually watched the Celebration in the confines of their apartments. But after that explosion-or whatever it was- Bellamy knew They had a handful of minutes before the Mess Hall would be filled with guards and those certified to aid the injured.

Inside, Bellamy discovered some kind of recreation room, with chairs and tables placed in rows. A screen hung on the farthest wall, but other than that, eveyrthing seemed a bit sparse and empty.

Bellamy gently laid Clarke on the floor, wary of her injury. He scanned the place, hoping happen across something he could use to support her head. But there was no pillow, no cushion, so he settled for just staying where he was, hands resting under her neck. The sight of blood was unsettling him and again, Bellamy hated that he had nothing to staunch it with. He knew head wounds could bleed more than others, but that didn't make him feel very reassured. Blood was still blood.

Ten minutes passed and Bellamy's arms were beginning to cramp but he didn't care. Worry nagged at him and if there was anything he hated feeling, it was helplessness. It was very similar to how he'd feel on the rare occasions Octavia would fall sick. That made it nearly impossible to get medicine and often, Bellamy would have to fake an illness to get her any.

That wouldn't help him in this situation though and with Clarke, all he could do was stay where he was and wait, while hoping no one came in here to find them sprawled out on the floor.

As more time passed, Bellamy's concern mounted. He looked at Clarke. It was weird to see her in this state. He'd grown so accustomed to her straightforwardness, her annoying confidence, that to see her like this, so vulnerable, was bewildering and it didn't feel right.

He was on the verge of trying to wake her again when her eyes suddenly opened. Her gaze met his and Bellamy found himself staring into pools of blue.

Some of his fear instantly began to ebb. "Hey," he said, almost conversationally.

Clarke smirked. Or winced. "Hey..." She looked around but the ceiling didn't reveal much. But when she turned her head, he felt her flinch. She sucked in a sharp breath. "Ow. What happened?"

Bellamy didn't retract his hands from her neck and though she clearly noticed, she didn't tell him to remove them. "You hit your head pretty hard, that's what happened. Some kind of explosion. How do you feel?"

Clarke frowned, reaching up a finger to touch the tender area. "Awesome."

Bellamy couldn't stop the small smile he felt on his face. Her poor attempt at humor actually made him feel a little better. "Well it looks great." His amusement dissipated. "There's some blood, but not much. Are you dizzy or nauseous or anything?"

Surprise flitted across her face but before Bellamy could comment on it, the look was gone. "No to the first one. Yes on the dizziness."

He tensed. "What does that mean?"

Her pained tone turned light. "It means that I was just thrown against a wall, Bellamy. It's probably just a minor concussion."

Bellamy's voice turned disapproving. "Aren't doctors supposed to sound more confident in their diagnosis?"

"I never finished my training."

He nodded. "Right, because that's the problem."

Clarke grinned, but there was something solemn in the air around her. Understandable, considering they'd just come dangerously close to being blown to bits; had stood next to some people who undoubtedly had.

"Who do you think orchestrated that bombing?" Clarke asked, like she'd read his mind.

Bellamy shook his head, slowly withdrawing his hands from her neck. She didn't seem to need them anymore and he didn't know why the sudden loss of contact made him feel colder.

Bellamy replayed the deafening roar of the explosion in his head. Already he had developed a theory as to who ordered the bombing. It was neither hard to guess nor was it a stretch of the imagination to think the real person that had wanted Jaha dead was also the person responsible for the explosion. It was almost convenient. If he was right.

Bellamy looked at Clarke warily. She still didn't know but he saw no reason to keep it from her anymore. "I think Shumway might have had something to do with it."

Clarke blanched and for a second, Bellamy felt his worry return at her sudden loss of color. "Commander Shumway?" She asked.

"Do you know any other?"

Her lips parted in shock. "But I heard him talking about you. That he was planning to have you floated."

At that, Bellamy scoffed, but it wasn't out of amusement, just plain irony. "He wouldn't want to risk me ratting him out. I doubt he'd even bother waiting for a trial; he'd just shoot me where I stood and write it off as self-defense."

Clarke gazed upwards, pondering the information, expression complacent. "He was the one who gave you the gun," she realized. It wasn't a question.

Bellamy's grimace was answer enough.

"Why? Why did he want you to kill Jaha?"

"We didn't exactly swap background stories." At the bite Bellamy heard in his voice, he added a less sarcastic comment. "I don't know why he wanted him dead."

Clarke looked at him, clearly trying to gauge his expression. But if she caught something, she didn't make it known. "Well we won't find out much about anything if we stay here." With that she started pulling herself up, but Bellamy quickly rested his hands back on her shoulders, stopping her before she could do any damage. "As you so clearly pointed out earlier, Princess, you were thrown against a wall. Shouldn't you be, I don't know, resting?"

Clarke winced at the pain, shutting her eyes for a moment before giving a very small shake of her head. "No time. You were the one running around septic. What's a little bump on the head?"

Bellamy stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm surprised your stubbornness hasn't gotten you killed yet," he said, and a piece of him felt angry at her for it. He quickly shrugged that feeling off.

Clarke didn't seem to have noticed as he helped her into a sitting position. "I think that's something we have in common." She felt around the bruised part of her skull again, keeping her other hand splayed against the floor for support. It wasn't really necessary, with Bellamy at her back, making sure she didn't keel over.

When she lowered her hand and looked down, blood glistened on her fingertips but unlike him, she seemed unconcerned. "Good; it's not too deep," Clarke murmured, her tone switching to a leveled one and Bellamy was struck by how similar it sounded to Abby Griffin. "No vision abnormalities. I can't check for anisocoria, though."

Bellamy gave her a vexed look. "Ani-what?"

"Anisocoria," Clarke repeated. "It's when the size of the pupils are uneven. It can be caused by blunt force trauma to the head."

Irritation leaked into his voice."Okay, but what _is_ it?"

It's a condition," she told him calmly, "that could mean a compressed nerve or possible swelling on the brain."

None of that sounded good. "Obviously you can't check it," he muttered. "But I think you're forgetting you're not the only one with eyes. Here," Bellamy moved around until he was facing her more clearly. Without really thinking about it, he took her chin in his hand, grip gentle but strong, and looked at her.

The action seemed to have taken her off-guard and him too, but he ignored it. Looking past the blues of her eyes, Bellamy struggled to focus on the pupils, never having looked at someone so intently before. He glanced from one pupil to the other, noticing how they became dilated the longer he stayed there, but nothing more. He was very aware at how close he was to her and that the cold he'd felt earlier was long gone.

Bellamy dismissed that, though, and studied her carefully, annoyed at the weird feeling that had suddenly taken residency in his chest. It made him hold his breath as if some unseen force were squeezing his lungs, wrapping covetous hands around his heart.

Frustrated with himself, Bellamy leaned back a bit abruptly, breaking his gaze from hers. "They look fine," he said, his voice husky to his own ears. He cleared his throat. "No, anipsycho or whatever it's called."

Clarke pursed her lips and he swore he saw her swallow. "Then I'm fine." She tried to stand. "Let's go."

"Wait," Bellamy said, and he felt a wave of deja vu crash over him. It was like they were back in the storage locker again, bickering over staying and leaving. But the roles of the injured had been reversed and unlike then, now Bellamy honestly wasn't looking for her to get lost or die.

"That's it?" he asked her, reproachful. "You know you're fine?"

Clarke made a sound of exasperation. It was quiet, but Bellamy still heard it. "You can ask me a list of dumb questions to ensure I'm not disoriented if you want. But either way, I'm going to find out what's happening."

Bellamy silently appraised her, standing so he could help her before she tripped. Clarke used his arms as leverage and he pulled her the rest of the way up. She swayed for a second and Bellamy was worried she'd fall, but her feet managed to right themselves.

Without another word, Clarke ambled towards the door, testing her balance before walking more regularly. Bellamy fell into step beside her, not even bothering to make objections.

If she was so willing to walk back out into a potentially hazardous zone, then he didn't doubt that she was fine.

* * *

The Station was in lock down. That was the first thing they'd found out as they left the recreation room. If they'd been much farther from the Mess Hall, they would've been locked out. Now, they were locked in, and Bellamy decided that the latter was probably worse. It made it easier to figure out what exactly was going on, but it also made it easier for any guards to find and arrest them.

Selfishly, he hoped that the explosion had caused a great enough disruption to make the Council momentarily forget about his existence. Unless they thought Bellamy was the cause of bombing. Then he was screwed.

Apparently, the world shared his sentiment, because no sooner had Bellamy peeked down the corridor that led to the Mess Hall when he spotted the black gear of guards. Drawing up against the wall, he cursed under his breath.

Clarke tried to catch a look of it herself but Bellamy pushed her back. Bellamy sagged against the corridor, suddenly feeling tired. "This isn't going to work," he whispered. "Those guards are stationed at every exit, making sure nobody else comes or leaves without authorization. They'll consider that bomb an act of terrorism and we both know who will be the first one blamed for it."

Clarke didn't contradict him. She already knew. "Maybe..." she trailed off, hesitating. "Maybe it's time."

"What, to die?"

She looked up at him, brows furrowed in an odd mixture of sympathy and acceptance. "To turn ourselves in."

Bellamy waited for the punchline. Clarke was bad at jokes, but this was probably her worst, because it seemed to _have_ no punchline. Instead, she just stared at him, waiting, and he finally took in the seriousness he saw there. She wasn't kidding. She was actually considering this.

It instantly felt like all the time they'd spent together dissolved and he was once again looking at a stranger.

"What?" The word barely made it past his lips but it fell cold and flat.

"You just said this wasn't going to work and you're right. The more you try to avoid the guards now, the more the Council will think you're involved in the bombing."

Bellamy felt dumbstruck, as if she'd slapped him. "So you think turning ourselves in is the answer? That's the same as asking me to agree to mutual suicide."

Clarke shook her head, and smarted at the pain it caused her head. "Our chances are-"

But Bellamy was quick to cut her off. "I'd have no chance!" He nearly yelled and it took restraint not to shout the words right there at her. "You're not the one who shot the Chancellor," he said, tone mockingly slow.

"No," she agreed. "I'm just the one who revealed confidential information to everyone aboard, in addition to being identified during an illegal spacewalk." Clarke simpered. "We don't have a choice. But it's possible that under the...unique circumstances, the Council might let you explain."

Bellamy stared at her, silenced by his own disbelief. He stood there, body tense, every part of him carved from stone. "Are you insane?" he finally asked, grappling to keep his voice beneath a shout. "They aren't going to let me say one word between here and the floating chamber and we both know that." He shook his head and what he said next surprised even him. "Was this your plan the whole time?"

As soon as it was out, he instantly wanted to take the last bit back. He heard the ludicrousness in his own words and he knew it, but for that brief second in time, they seemed logical. He was too blinded by incredulity and a cold sensation that was suspiciously close to fear. Rationality abandoned him, but a piece of it came back when he saw the flash of hurt cross her eyes.

"Fine," Clarke said, her voice losing feeling and Bellamy felt his regret grow. "Then don't. You can do whatever you want. But if you wait around to be caught over going to them willingly, it _will_ be worse for you."

Bellamy let out an aggravated breath. It almost sounded like a snarl. "Look, I didn't mean that. But come on, Clarke; even you have to admit this is nuts."

Her gaze narrowed. "At what point has any of this been sane, Bellamy?" she challenged. "It has risks. _A lot_ of them. But I don't know what else to do. If you have an alternative, please tell me. I'm listening."

But that was the problem. He didn't have one. She knew it. He knew it. Which left them at a standstill. "Clarke..."

She pinned him with a hard look, that fire awakening in her eyes, blue flames dancing in the hearth of her irises. "I'm doing this with or without you. I'll just be the one to mention Shumway to the Council."

It wasn't reassuring to him and it only made Bellamy angrier. "That's an effective way to implicate yourself."

Her hands curled into fists, but Bellamy thought it was more out of desperation than hostility. But still, she spoke levelly. "That doesn't matter anymore. The fact remains that we are going to be found sooner or later. But it's better for the both of us if it's on our terms."

Bellamy glowered at her. "Define 'better,' Clarke. Because the second they have us, the first thing the Guard is going to do is try to pull up my file only for for them to figure out it's not there anymore. Are you going to tell the Council that you were the one to delete it? You know what that'll lead to. You'll have to spill about breaking into Jaha's quarters. Which, technically, is the _one thing_ we actually haven't been charged with yet."

Clarke's face fell and for a moment, Bellamy thought he'd won. But her next set of words quickly dashed that hope. "That will still happen when we're caught," she pointed out, and he hated that she supplanted if with when, making it something inevitable. "But if we come forward with the information, the Council may not think we had anything to do with today's attack."

Bellamy tossed up his hands. "That's great. Then they'll just float us for everything else."

"Unless we can use Shumway as a bargaining chip."

That made Bellamy pause. "What?"

He thought he detected some smugness in her tone. "We may be criminals, but we aren't terrorists, and something tells me the Council would be very interested in that information."

Bellamy's mind blanked. Oh. He couldn't deny that that, in theory, would give the both of them an advantage. It was a vital piece of intel, regardless of whether Shumway had anything to do with the actual bombing or not. He was a threat to the Chancellor, and that alone might be enough to make the Council listen.

Bellamy didn't know how long he looked at her, but Clarke never broke away, cemented in her resolve.

He couldn't keep refusing to see her point. She was right, and after raging an internal war, he accepted it, if not a little begrudgingly. Their window to get on the Exodus ship had closed. Every option of theirs had closed, trapping them inside a hopeless scenario where escape was impossible and where staying meant death.

"You better be right about this," Bellamy chastised.

Clarke said nothing and though he was sure she was afraid, she didn't show it.

Bellamy stole another glance around the bend. The guards were still there, four backs facing them, blocking the mouth of the corridor. He pulled back, pressing himself against the wall. "They'll want to interrogate us," Bellamy said. "They'll take us to the Prison Station to do it, so we have that to look forward to, at least."

In the wake of a quite possibly lethal decision, Clarke offered him a small smile. It disappeared in the next instant, as both of them nodded to each other before turning onto the corridor.

It didn't strike Bellamy until the first guard turned and met his eyes that the only reason he'd agreed to this was that something inside him trusted Clarke.

And he wasn't surprised to find that, just as he'd thought as a kid, the cost of trust was high.


	21. Chapter Twenty One: Clarke

**`Sorry this chapter took longer to update. It's Christmas week, so I thought I'd give myself a little vacation. Plus, I started reading a book series and was able to fit all 2,000 + pages worth into a week and a half, so now my distraction is gone (*insert post-series crisis here*). And honestly, I wish my chapters here were shorter. But they can't be. But I don't feel like anyone is disappointed by that XD**

Clarke didn't feel like she was in her body. It was as if a piece of her had drifted upwards, watching herself from an objective viewpoint as she stepped towards the guards.

The movement caught the attention of one and they turned, eyes focusing on her. Recognition dawned on him, quickly followed by surprise. And then, action.

The guards were around them in a second. As soon as a firm grip found her hands, twisting and pinning them tightly behind her, Clarke snapped back into her body. Hot pain coursed up her back and knocked around her skull.

Like the first the rest of the guards placed her faster than they did Bellamy. But when they did, only a breadth later, three of the four guards took him down much more harshly than they had her, nearly tackling him and shoving his face into the floor. Cuffs were slapped onto his wrists and Clarke felt the metal of another pair bite into her own skin. as Bellamy was pulled up. Two guards stood at his side, the third still gripping his arms, regardless of the cuffs.

Bellamy cast her a sideways glance and Clarke saw the flicker of panic there. She felt herself, the spark threatening to grow and engulf her, but she refused to let it. Instead, she tilted her chin up, hoping she wore an expression that held some semblance of confidence.

"We have information for Jaha," she said, but it was hard to be heard over the movement of the guards and their own chattering as they informed others via comm. Her throat still ached from earlier and Clarke could still feel the ghosts of fingertips, pressing into her flesh, seeking to kill.

Despite being cuffed, she clenched her hands. "We have information for Jaha," she repeated, raising her voice. "It's about the bombing!"

That drew some of the attention from Bellamy and onto her, but it wasn't exactly welcomed. There was a different look in the guards' eyes when they looked to her. She saw the distrust, the incredulity. But it was drastic in comparison to the look they gave Bellamy, reserved for the lowliest of people.

That grated on her nerves, but Clarke didn't let it show. Instead, she met the guard's gaze unflinchingly. "Believe me," she said. "He's going to want to hear it."

The guard still holding Bellamy pulled him closer, as if planning to whisper something in his ear, but his words were directed at her. "I have no interest in the wants of fugitives, especially this one." He shoved Bellamy forward, still holding onto him as the guard herded him down the corridor. Clarke's guard was quick to follow, pulling her alongside him.

"I wasn't responsible for the bombing," Bellamy bit out, but all that earned him was another rough shove, as if the guard thought he could physically shake some kind of confession out of him.

"He had nothing to do with it!" Clarke said, dismissing the pain radiating from her temples. "He never wanted to shoot the Chancellor-his objective was getting on the dropship. One of yours helped him." She was careful not to give too much information away, just enough to snag interest. "How else do you think he got the gun to do it?"

The closest guard, her guard, glanced at her. But if he believed anything she said, his face didn't give it away. "I respect your Mother. I'm surprised she'd breed such treasonous company."

Fury flared inside her. If only this man knew. Though Clarke didn't want her mom floated, she didn't confuse that with forgiveness. Abby Griffin had done treasonous acts of her own, not against the Council, but against the people who loved her. And that was worse, because those were the things treasonous against one's heart and soul.

"We aren't the traitors here," she spoke to the guard.

The man looked unfazed, his green eyes breaking away from hers. "Escort them to the Prison Station."

They moved into the Mess Hall and Clarke's argument died in her throat. She was unprepared for the grotesque sights around her; brilliant smears of red decorated the floor, plashing against the dull metal. Moans of pain echoed around the room, accompanied by the mournful sounds of grieving people. Some of the bodies had already been moved to one side of the room, faces uncovered. Through the guards, she couldn't see them very well, but she did spot the familiar, white-blonde hair of one and despite refusing to hate Soren, a small voice still hoped it was him.

Then a different person grabbed onto Clarke's attention. First, it was her mom, standing over someone, undoubtedly tending to their wounds. She hoped her mom wouldn't see her, but that was a vain hope in itself that was dashed a moment later, when a different voice broke out.

"Stop."

Clarke knew it well. Commanding. Authoritative. It didn't matter if she'd grown up with it, the strength in that voice never failed to make her feel like a child again, running around with Wells.

Chancellor Jaha stood before the guards, jet-black eyes falling to his men before landing on her. There was a weight in that look, but Clarke didn't think it was disappointment. If anyone had a right to be disappointed in the other, it was her. She may have gone against the Council's wishes and broke a few laws, but at least she hadn't sentenced her friend to death. There were clearly worse things to be than a fugitive on the Ark.

Jaha's gaze turned from hers and landed on Bellamy, both expressions unreadable. "What is this?" he asked.

The guard next to Clarke stepped forward, still keeping a good hold on her. "We caught-"

"-We turned ourselves in," she clarified, sending the guard a stern look. "There was no catching involved."

"Clarke?" She recognized her mom's voice in an instant and a moment later, she saw her, stepping in beside Jaha. It was fitting, Clarke couldn't help think a little bitterly, that the two of them should stand next to each other.

She made no acknowledgement of her mother just as the guard spoke again. "We're taking them to the Prison Station for interrogation."

Jaha studied them again, and Clarke wondered what Bellamy was thinking. She was suddenly worried that Jaha would dismiss any interrogation and just float the both of them right then. But he simply said, "Come back for her later."

Clarke didn't realize he was speaking of her until one of the guards tried to object. "Sir, Clarke Griffin has been charged with-"

Jaha raised a hand, silencing the man. "Oh, I've been made well aware of Miss Griffin's recent...actions. But this is neither the time nor place for any trial. We have twenty-one injured civilians and Clarke has trained with licensed medical personnel. We're short on hands and we could use her assistance."

This time, Clarke couldn't quite keep the shock off her face. For one, she expected to be hauled straight to the Prison Station with the long list of her transgressions. For another, being split from Bellamy was not part of her plan. She struggled for a response. "Wait, I-"

"We don't have time for this," Jaha interrupted. "Take Mr. Blake to the Prison Station. Escort Miss Griffin after she's finished here."

Clarke shook her head, trying to think of something, but it was already too late. Bellamy cast her one final glance as his guards corralled him through the Mess Hall and out the corridor.

When he was out of sight, Clarke forced her focus on the hurt people around her. The faster this was done, the faster she could at least get down to the Prison Station. Maybe even while she was here, she could spare a word with Jaha, but the odds of any guard letting her speak to him were painfully slim.

Instead, Clarke put her efforts in bandaging cuts and staunching blood flow. Some of the people were taken to surgery, including a little girl, but that was something Clarke couldn't assist. She stayed with the simple injuries, sticking to the ugly gashes, the concussions, and the stitches. Twenty-one people didn't seem like much, but not only did Clarke have to tend the wounds, she had to deal with the discomfort and occasional barrage of questions that came from the injured persons.

Some asked the melodramatic questions, such as if they would die. Clarke was relieved when she could tell them that they would be fine, and know it wasn't a lie. Others were less-accepting of her help, especially those who had lost someone in the Culling. Clarke wasn't responsible for their death, but perhaps if it had been forced, this family's loved one wouldn't have been chosen. It was a paltry what-if that could have made all the difference.

By the time she reached her last patient, an older man with grease smeared in his dark hair, Clarke was sweating from the work. She'd gone from the worst injuries to the less-critical and all she had to do for this man was reset his arm. He let out a sound of pain as the joint popped back into place.

His brown eyes met hers but he didn't thank her.

When he was gone, Clarke was on her knees and sat back, surveying the room for anyone she might have missed. The others were already being tended to by someone else and the dead had been separated from the living. She noted the guards still around, their eyes trailed on her and she counted them.

Other guards were there, including the four that had "caught" them and Clarke felt suddenly confused why none of them seemed to have remained in the Prison Station. Someone had to have started interrogating Bellamy, but the fact that no guards from here were overseeing it made her suddenly uneasy.

She rose from her uncomfortable position and one guard instantly moved in on her. He grabbed her arm before she could get very far, and Clarke felt the need to point out the obvious of how difficult it would be to get out from here unseen. She didn't though. She just looked across at the guard, the same one who had escorted her earlier, and her unease grew.

"Aren't you supposed to be interrogating Bellamy Blake?" she asked. She knew it was usually Council members that led interrogations, but these were rare circumstances.

The guard didn't even glance at her. "That's not my job."

Her heart rate increased, and that foreboding escalated. "Is it Marcus Kane, then?"

This time, he did look at her, and there was a warning burning in his gaze. "Marcus Kane is preoccupied questioning someone else. A Mr. Ridley. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"

"Is Bellamy even being interrogated?" she asked, dismissing the implication.

The guard must have heard something in her voice because though he seemed annoyed at her pestering, he didn't ignore her. "Commander Shumway is currently dealing with the criminal as we speak."

 _Dealing with._ The way he said it made her suddenly feel cold. And just like that, what little pieces of her plan that had still been in place crumbled into dust.

* * *

Five minutes later, things got worse.

Clarke's mind was already churning with ideas, while the rest of her churned with guilt. Bellamy was stuck in a room with Shumway and she knew that he wouldn't let Bellamy leave that cell alive. It was a miracle in itself, Clarke decided, when the guard started escorting her down to the Prison Station with a nod of approval from Jaha.

They left the Mess Hall behind and Clarke tried not to walk quickly, as if she were eager to be locked up. They were halfway there when the guard suddenly came to a halt, nearly yanking Clarke backwards. He raised a device to his ears, probably hoping he could keep the message from reaching Clarke, but she heard it.

 _"Prison Station is down,"_ a voice chimed from the device's speaker.

 _What?_ Clarke looked at the guard, trying and failing to keep out thoughts of Shumway and Bellamy in the same room. The guard next to her seemed to forget about her existence. "What do you mean, 'down?'"

The response was imminent. _"The power's been cut. Dismantled from the inside."_

Clarke stopped breathing, and her mind flashed back to the words spoken to her only a few minutes earlier. _Commander Shumway is currently dealing with the criminal as we speak._

The guard paused, evidently not knowing what to do about her now.

But Clarke made the decision for him.

She stepped away from the guard, just enough to bring up her elbow. It smashed into his face and he let out a sound of pain. He barely had time to react or pull something on her when Clarke reached up and pinched a part of his neck. Pressure point. The guard's eyes went wide before he fell to the floor.

Clarke didn't spare him another glance before she was moving away. Not long ago, she would've given anything to be free of the Prison Station. Now, she was running towards it. When the echo of pounding feet sounded, Clarke pressed herself against the wall as they passed, and kept going. She knew when she was getting closer; degrees were dropping and it grew darker until Clarke came to the Prison Station entrance. Beyond it, she couldn't make out a thing. The corridor was swallowed by blackness and she stood there, heart crashing against her ribs.

She didn't give herself any time. Fortunately with the power off, it made it easier to heft open the door wide enough for her to squeeze through and when she did, it was like being doused in ice water.

The Prison Station had frozen, the temperature so low, it felt to be in the negatives. Clarke's breath climbed the air and the biting chill dug into her skin, so deep until it caressed the bones. There was no extra fabric she had on to conserve warmth; she'd discarded her jacket in the airlock, which had long since left her forearms exposed, now to the relentless cold.

Clarke gazed down the long stretch of corridor, nearly black without the familiar glow of circadian lights. Without them, this part of the ship turned ghostly and silent. Dead and terribly empty, something stripped of its soul.

Clarke thrust that thought far from her and started walking, her footsteps deafening in the stillness. She stopped in front of the first door. The first _cell_ door.

 _Number 232._

Clarke was intimate with the labeling. Once, she'd been prisoner _399_ , and she always found it cruel that not only were the people here divested of their family and their dignity, but their very names as well.

Clarke made a fist and his the door, loud enough for any occupant inside to hear. "Bellamy?" she asked, hitting it harder. "Bellamy?!" Nothing.

Clarke moved on to the next one, repeating the action. Again, her only response was silence. She drew farther down the corridor, pausing at each door. _233\. 238._

"Bellamy?!"

A muffled noise echoed farther down the corridor and Clarke didn't hesitate. She chased the sound, pausing intermittently to wait for it again.

It brought her to _261_. Her entire body was shaking now, the cold wrapping around her like a vice, squeezing out all the warmth. But it would be worse in these cells, she knew.

She held her breath. "Bellamy?"

"Clarke?" His voice was muted, as if speaking from a far distance but Clarke recognized it. She couldn't manage a moment of relief, though. The magnetic locks securing the closed door was off, and though that made it unlocked, it also sealed Bellamy inside.

"It's me," Clarke said, wishing there were a window of sorts to view him clearly through. But it was a solid metal frame. His response, at least, came less muddled. "The power's out," he said.

Clarke sighed. "Yeah. I kind of already figured that. Are you-?"

"-Freezing?" he interjected. "Yeah. Dead? Check back in an hour."

Clarke looked at the lock's panel, decorated in yet more numbers, and had the sudden desire to hit it. That was about as futile as her next course of action; she gripped the sides of the door and tried to open it by force but it was tantamount to moving a wall. It wasn't like the entrance door; this one was a slate of steel, unlocked, but immobile.

Clarke slammed a hand against its surface, this time out of frustration and the necessity to keep her blood circulating. "Door's too heavy," she reported, already scouring for other options. "I can't open it."

Bellamy offered the only idea he had physical access to help with. "I'll pull from this side. You pull from there."

She nodded, as if he could see it. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the smooth door and the steel chipped her nails as she strained to pull it back. Her head still pounded from its earlier hit, but she pushed through it. Yet, even with their combined efforts, the door didn't budge, save for an inch-wide crack that closed once their weight was off it.

Clarke took a deep breath, clipping away her rising unease and turning her attention on reason. On focus. She could figure something out. There was always a way. What she really needed, she decided, was something to pry the door open with. Or at least keep that inch of space clear.

"Remind me again whose plan this was?" Bellamy jeered, though there was an irate edge to his voice.

Clarke, for one, found the reminder unnecessary. But she couldn't have predicted something like this, not after every insane thing that's crossed their paths this far. It was her fault that he was here, but it wasn't her fault that she was the lure for the dark.

"I need something to hold the door in place." She looked around her, gaze dropping down the way she'd come. Even in the lack of light, she couldn't see the guards' bodies anymore. But she knew they were there, crumpled and folded over like paper.

"Hold on," she breathed, wisps of cloud appearing from her mouth. "I have an idea."

"One that involves me ever feeling my feet again?"

Clarke ignored the barb, moving away from the door and out the corridor, down, down, to where the broken men lay. Clad in black gear, she almost tripped over the first one, but her eyes had adjusted and she was now able to make out the unclothed features like faces and hands. Something twisted in her chest and Sympathy sprang inside her. She'd seen corpses before-cadavers, as rare as they were. But it was nothing like this. Nothing like glimpsing the people alive only to suddenly find them dead a moment later. Shot down in cold-blood, no less.

Clarke felt sorry for these men, but her pity wasn't enough to slow her down. Guards had weapons, and the dead no longer had use for them.

Clarke stooped beside one and, ignoring those sightless eyes shadowed in the dark, she unhooked his baton. It was heavier than she expected, but it would suffice.

She returned with it to the cell door, clutching tightly onto the weapon. "Okay, Bellamy, I need you to pull open the door as much as you can." Enough to where, hopefully, there would be a good amount of room to slide the baton through and pry the rest of the door open. At best, it would work. At worst, the metal rod would break and he would be left alone to eventually succumb to the effects of hypothermia.

Clarke pushed away the mental image of his body, lying lifeless and chalk-white beside the others.

A shout of anger coming from inside the cell snapped her attention back to Bellamy. "Fingers are numb," he informed her.

Clarke's patience was beginning to fade, chased away by her mounting desperation. Once again, the both of them found themselves under the growing shadow of death, and Clarke wondered how many times they could avoid it before it, too, lost its patience.

"Then do it quickly." she snapped. "Come on."

She heard his shuffling around followed by his groan of exertion. The results weren't instantaneous and Clarke tried to help as best she could. Again, that sliver of an opening appeared and before it could blink out, Clarke shoved the baton in place, praying the door wouldn't snap it in half.

But the door was shut down and she let out a small sound of relief when the baton remained in one piece.

"Good," she rasped, though she wasn't sure who she was talking to; either herself or Bellamy. Leaning over the protruding weapon, Clarke tried to get a clearer view of the room through the small splinter of a window. Slowly, she could make out the familiar, unkind walls of the cell that mirrored her own one, devoid of the drawings and depictions of Earth which made it even less appealing.

A heartbeat later, the view was swallowed by Bellamy. Clarke could only make out a fraction of his profile, one brown eye boring into hers. More white vapor bloomed from his mouth, the corners of his lips tinged an ugly, bruised blue.

"I don't think anything should be considered good until we aren't in a death and death situation."

Clarke didn't grace that with a response and instead, started pulling on the door again. She used the baton as leverage, but she didn't apply too much force on the handle, not wanting to break it. She was grateful for the small purchase that allowed her a more substantial grip and though her back ached and her skull pounded with a second heartbeat, she didn't stop.

But baton or not, it made her no stronger and Clarke barely succeeded in widening the door another inch. She paused long enough to drag in a painful breath, accompanied by dizziness. This would take time. And time was something that never seemed to play in their favor.

They tried again and Bellamy hissed out a breath as a wider gap appeared. Another inch. Maybe less. Strength wasn't on his side either, Clarke saw. He was weary and tired and growing colder by the minute. Even his usual tanned skin was taking on a sickly pallor.

Three inches.

"Clarke, this isn't going to work. Just go."

It took a second for the full meaning of his words to register but Clarke discarded them just as quickly. She tightened her hold on the door. "You're not dying here, Bellamy."

She'd already watched enough people die, her father included. And she couldn't let that happen to another person she cared about.

Bellamy stopped pulling, leaning forward enough for her to again make out hat single brown eye. "Don't be stupid about this, Clarke. Just get out of here."

Clarke looked at him, and she could clearly hear the earnest in his voice, caught in one of those rare moments when it was unguarded. But she'd already made up her mind. "You saved my life twice already," she said. "It's only fair I do the same."

He shook his head and his hand collided with the door, startling her. "And getting yourself killed is the way to repay me? Clarke, you don't-"

-"I can't lose you, too."

It was out before she could stop it but Clarke realized that it was true. Somewhere along the way, she'd started trusting him. Clarke knew what he was capable of; had seen him go from a threat to a person a part of her relied on. Bellamy had become a consistency throughout this whole mess and as brash as he was, he didn't try to be something he wasn't. Plus, he had a sister to get back to, and if there was one death Clarke refused to be responsible for, it was his.

Bellamy's expression-largely obscured by the door-went slack, brows furrowing in something she couldn't place. Maybe he didn't think the same of her, but then Clarke was reminded that just a moment ago, he had been telling her to leave him behind. And that spoke volumes on its own.

She stared at him. If he planned to make further objections, he didn't voice them. Rather, Bellamy seemed to draw his own resolve and gave her a curt nod. They tried again. And again. And again. Each time earned them another inch of space, and the sliver grew wider, until Clarke could see half of Bellamy's face. If it wasn't freezing, she was sure she'd see beads of sweat on his forehead, but whatever warmth was gleaned from the movement was quickly devoured by the cold.

Clarke didn't know how long it took, but eventually, they pulled the door open enough for Bellamy to wriggle through. Like her, he was shaking, and he stumbled out the door. Clarke didnt allow him to even pause for breath, she was already shoving him down the corridor. Again, she passed the dead guards and Bellamy saw them too but they kept going until they'd reached the Prison Station door.

Clarke make him go first, only letting the both of them catch their breath when they were no longer in a zero-degree zone.

She looked over at Bellamy, ensuring he wasn't suffering from anything else but the cold. She was somewhat surprised to find Shumway hadn't tried to shoot him, but the Commander must have thought the cell would've been effective enough in finishing him off once and for all.

Bellamy, still breathing roughly, met her gaze. "Thanks," he said lamely.

"Don't mention it." Clarke looked back towards the corridor, welcoming the visibility the circadian lights provided. She didn't know where they should go next, but she resumed walking, at a slower pace for Bellamy.

They were nearing Alpha again when more approaching feet resounded from farther down and Clarke ducked inside another corridor. Bellamy followed suit, and they pressed their backs into the walls. The footsteps came closer and Clarke could tell they were guards from the heavy thud of military-issued boots.

They were speaking to each other in rushed tones that instantly put both of them on edge. "...Exodus ship has been compromised," one said, and Clarke instantly looked at Bellamy whose eyes had gone wide.

"Lock it down! Lock it down!" The guards fled down the corridor, and soon the sounds of feet disappeared, leaving Clarke there, frozen as if she were back in the Prison Station.

"Compromised?" Bellamy repeated.

Clarke didn't say anything. But at least now she knew where they were going next.

* * *

She didn't know what she expected to find. But it wasn't this. Not a hoard of people, clawing and shoving their way towards the Exodus ship's gates, pushing others out of the way and scrambling over one another.

Shouts tore through the air, but they were low enough to make one distinguished voice from the rest. "I will if you let the doors close!" Someone shouted and Clarke vaguely recognized it. "Is that...?" She tried to cut through the throng, Bellamy at her heels. "Diana Sydney?"

No answer was really necessary and Clarke forced herself deeper, ignoring the jabs of elbows into her sides.

"They haven't decoupled!" A different person shouted and Clarke was close enough now to make out a man standing beside Jaha. She did not see her mother.

The Chancellor turned to him. "What does that mean?"

"It means the dropship's still tied into all the major systems: power, air, water..." His voice turned panicked. "If it launches, the Ark will be crippled. And everyone left aboard will die."

At that, Clarke stopped so suddenly that Bellamy nearly rammed into her. Everyone left aboard...

She started moving again, wrestling her way between the people until she could finally make out the scene before her. The doors separating the Exodus ship from the Ark were almost fully sealed, if not for the metal clamp that kept it from shutting completely. Diana was on the other side, blonde hair fanned around her as she shouted at Jaha.

"You promised the people truth!" She screamed. "And all you have them were lies!"

"You had me shot!" Jaha spat. And, in a second's time, Clarke understood. Shumway hadn't been working alone. He had been under the orders of Diana. A respectable woman. A member of the Council.

"You detonated a bomb in a public meeting that killed six innocent people!" Continued Jaha. "And now you want to kill everyone on this Space Station just to satisfy your ego?"

Diana gazed around at the people, almost benevolently. "He is still lying to your face! There aren't enough dropships to get everyone down to the ground!"

The chaos ceased. The shouts died off, washed away by her words and Clarke could have heard a pin drop in the silence.

"What is she talking about?" Someone finally asked, but Jaha ignored it. "Trust me, we will figure this out! We will survive! We always do!" He turned to another person. "Go! Come on!"

But Diana had the upper hand now. "You can't trust him!" She yelled and, looking around, Clarke saw that a few people appeared to agree. "More than one thousand people, most of them workers like you, are gonna be left behind to die! You can save yourself!" She gestured to the opening.

Clarke was shaking again, but this time, it wasn't from the cold. She looked back at a Bellamy who met her eyes in the same instant.

"We've lost the main power generator," someone informed Jaha and Clarke looked back, just in time to hear another person in the front shout, "I'm going to the ground!" And the man suddenly threw himself at the door and clamored through the small spacing. The shouts resumed and more people pressed toward the doors, sweeping Clarke and Bellamy along with it. But before anyone else could follow after, the steel clamp was dislodged, and the doors sealed shut.

"Launch!" Diana screamed.

An expression of resignation fell over Jaha and he quickly turned to the rest of the crowd. "Everybody out!" He bellowed."Get back behind the containment doors!"

Alarms sounded, cutting off the shouts and cries of protest. The swell of people moved back and Clarke barely noticed the set of fingers that wove through her's, pulling her away.

"Clarke, come on!"

She cast one final look at the Exodus ship before turning and running with the crowd. The alarms were like nails against her eardrums. Her vision tunneled and she didn't let go of his hand, clutching it more tightly as the floor suddenly rocked, throwing her off-balance. Once again, the circadian lights flickered and more screams erupted. Even when they were past the containment doors, they didn't stop. Even as the metal walls around them came undone, Clarke kept going.

She knew when the dropship was gone. The Ark swayed again, as if some great force had collided with it, twisting everything out of control. The circadian lights blinked out once more, but this time, they did not come back on.

The Ark wasn't a cage anymore. The launching of the Exodus Ship had made it a tomb.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two: Bellamy

**Okay, since this fanfiction is nearing its end, I am going to be updating it less to draw it out so it lasts a little longer. I think I already know how I'm going to end it which makes me kind of sad. It's not ending yet; has a few more chapters left. This story has definitely been more of a challenge than my other ones because I'm trying to "blend" it into the original season and events that take place on the Ark. Anyway, please review! I love you guys!**

Bellamy was dead.

Or so he thought, the moment he opened his eyes and was greeted by darkness. Maybe the galaxy had swallowed him and he was now suspended in that precarious in-between of life and death. If he was, than he wasn't passing fast enough. Or worse; maybe this was death, a place of perpetual blackness, and that was the thought that truly, truly scared him.

Bellamy was on the brink of panicking when something flickered in his periphery and he looked over. A dozen meters from him lay torn wires, frayed ends sparking with light. Death would have no use for wires and the fear of him actually being dead suddenly drained out of him. No, he was definitely alive, but Bellamy couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing yet. Who was to say how long he'd been out?

Bellamy tried to move, and became conscious of a weight pressing against his abdomen. Gingerly, he moved his hands and feet to make sure nothing was broken before shoving off the debris that had landed on him. His entire body ached like one massive contusion as he sat up.

He coughed. "Clarke?"

Silence.

"Clarke?"

A sound of something being shifted came from his right and Bellamy turned his head towards it just as a small voice said, "here."

He quickly stood up, unconcerned with the momentary dizziness and moved over to her. Clarke was lying in the middle of the corridor, encircled with more debris and...bodies. Not many; two or three, but Bellamy didn't need to look any closer to know they were dead.

Bellamy pulled Clarke out of the rubble and his hands subconsciously roved down her arms. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but feeling that she was here seemed to calm whatever it was inside him. His hands reached her shoulders. "You okay?"

The backup generator kicked in then. It wasn't much but it was enough for him to see her somewhat clearly under a ghostly light. Though grime caked Clarke's face and a thin veil of dirt dusted her hair, like him she was alive, and that made the mess of her state a welcomed sight.

She nodded. "Terrific. You?"

Bellamy smiled, but it fell from him almost instantly, very aware of the dead watching him. "Fine. Not sure how much longer that will last for."

Though she could stand on her own, Clarke didn't move away from him just yet, staying there for a moment longer than necessary until she finally drew back. "We have to find the others," she said, but Bellamy heard the implication. _If there's anyone else to find._

"Yeah," he agreed. "It'll be just our luck to be the last living people on a failing ship." The words were cold and they tasted bitter, but Bellamy was entitled to some bitterness. They both were. If he'd thought the Ark was a ticking clock before, now it was a grenade. And every second, the pin came closer and closer to being pulled.

Clarke took a deep breath as she took in their surroundings, pausing on the corpses. "We haven't died yet, Bellamy," she murmured quietly. "And believe me, we've had plenty of opportunities to."

"So either we're meant to be alive, or something just really really wants us dead."

She pursed her lips, finally looking away from the bodies and towards the corridor, squinting to see it more clearly. "I prefer the first one."

"All right then." Bellamy gestured with the tilt of his head at the corridor. "Lets hurry up. We don't know how stable this place is."

As they started walking, Bellamy tried to get some grip of where he was. He knew they were close to the Mess Hall and still on Alpha, but as of where exactly, he was unable to pinpoint. It was strange how foreign the ship had become in the absence of light and people and the symphony of footsteps echoing down the corridors. Now it was just barren, as if the Ark had been turned inside out.

Unconsciously, Bellamy softened his pace, listening intently for any signs of life. Not too long ago, they'd been surrounded by people. But apparently in the flurry of panic, he and Clarke had separated from most of them. Occasionally he spotted another body. The flash of dark liquid smeared across the floor. Clarke checked for a pulse on every one of them before resuming the search.

They were about to cross into another corridor, as dark and seemingly vacant as the others, when Clarke suddenly held up her hand. "Wait."

Bellamy stilled, trying to follow her gaze. "What?"

Clarke backtracked, turning around and making a sharp left. She drew up short. "That."

Bellamy strode up beside her, eyes landing on a limp figure just as Clark dropped to her knees. The stranger was lying on their back, a halo of dark hair circling her head. She was young, which made it that much worse when Bellamy registered the fragments of metal punching through her chest.

It reminded Bellamy of those pictures of butterflies, their wings stretched out and pinned with those small nails. If it weren't for the hushed whimper coming from their lips, Bellamy would've thought the person dead. He wished for their sake they were.

Bellamy wanted to look away. As Clarke inspected the grisly scene, he wanted to turn around and scrub this image from his mind, but his eyes wouldn't listen. Something about it transfixed him. It was too surreal. Too ugly and was more unfathomable than floating in a sea of stars.

A gurgling noise came from the stranger and it was enough to snap Bellamy out of his thoughts. "Am I...Am I going-going to die?"

Bellamy glanced at Clarke who was still staring at the wound. He waited for her neutral expression to waiver. For some glimmer of doubt to give her away. But it didn't come. "You're okay," Clarke said, voice cajoling. "You're okay."

"It...hurts."

She nodded. "I know. I know it does. But I can make it go away."

Doctors weren't supposed to lie, Bellamy thought. They weren't supposed to entertain false hopes and they definitely, under no circumstances, were allowed to dole out promises.

But then Clarke looked at him. She gave an imperceptible shake of her head and it was right then that Bellamy understood. _But I can make it go away._

Bellamy didn't say anything. He didn't try to dissuade Clarke as she located a small, jagged piece of metal. He just watched as one of her hands stroked the girl's hair while the other clutched the makeshift blade.

"Make-make it go away," the girl begged, blood bubbling up in the corners of her mouth. "Please."

Clarke drew in a slow breath, angling the piece of metal so it wasn't in the girl's line of sight. "I'm going to. Right now, okay?"

Bellamy felt out of place, like he needed to do something. A sudden urge to step closer to this dying girl overpowered the desire to leave and he knelt beside her, just above her head. Clarke raised the tip of the jagged metal to the girl's throat.

That's when Bellamy started humming. The melody was gruff, and though he wasn't the best at mimicking the notes and never once knew the lyrics, it was something that had never failed to calm Octavia when she was scared. Bellamy hoped it did the same for this girl.

He kept his eyes on Clarke this time, ignoring the small puncture she made with the sharp utensil. Ignoring the slowing of the girl's breaths. Ignoring the stillness of her chest that followed shortly after.

* * *

They walked on in silence. Clarke kept her eyes ahead as Bellamy scoped out the corridors that branched to their left and right. He tried not to think of bodies and blood and jagged metal fragments as he did, hoping that the next Arker they found would be alive, and that they'd stay that way.

When they passed into Mecha, Bellamy's bad joke of being the last living people on the Ark was starting to seem like a real possibility. He would never admit to it out loud, but he felt scared. To distract himself, he turned his focus on Clarke, who still kept her gaze forward.

If her actions with the girl were bothering her, she didn't visibly show it, but Bellamy knew better. "That took a lot of courage to do that, Clarke," he whispered.

Her gaze flickered to his, lips pressed into a thin line. "It didn't feel like courage."

He studied her intently, gauging that hollowed look in her eyes. "No," he said. "It shouldn't."

The echo of something that sounded like footsteps caught Bellamy's focus, drifting down from the next corridor over. Thoughts of dying girls and mercy killings vanished. With one look at Clarke confirming he didn't imagine it, they broke into a sprint. The noise of shuffling feet grew louder, soon accompanied by voices and both him and Clarke came to an abrupt halt when they reached the end of a corridor, stunned to find it filled with people. Living, breathing people.

There had to have been around half a dozen and the ones who weren't frozen in terror met their eyes. Bellamy didn't recognize which Stations they were from, but that didn't really matter to him. He just wanted enough people alive to be able to do something about a doomed ship.

"...Take them to the Mess Hall," someone was saying. The words came from the back, beyond the small cluster of people and whatever momentary relief Bellamy had felt diminished. He knew that voice.

Through the thin crowd, Bellamy was able to make out the features of Marcus Kane, standing in front of a blockage, choking the corridor. Poles and broken plates of steel were piled up, sealing this corridor off from the other. The Councilor was arguing with someone else, someone Bellamy didn't recognize.

"No," Marcus Kane hissed, "That is an order."

It was selfish, but Bellamy was almost grateful for the ship's condition; he may have had the concern of dying from oxygen deprivation, but at least he didn't need to worry about being floated.

"Blake?" he caught his name whispered quietly by a few people, coupled with "Griffin" and "Chancellor Jaha."

It was enough to draw Kane's attention off the man he was arguing with and the crowd parted as he stepped away from the debris. His eyes landed on Bellamy, who didn't look away. There was a look of surprise on his face, quickly followed by an expression of feigned civility.

Bellamy didn't move or back down as Kane came to a halt just a foot away from him, appraising him with almost mock approval.

"Bellamy Blake," Kane said, making his name sound like something distasteful. "I thought you were left in the Prison Station. I'm surprised you aren't dead."

Bellamy stood a little straighter. "Don't you mean disappointed?"

Kane ignored the jab, his dark eyes staring Bellamy down. Or trying to. "You shouldn't be here."

"You can blame your fellow Council buddy for that."

Kane looked as if he wanted nothing more than to shove Bellamy into an airlock chamber and open the doors, but before he even had the chance to say anything, Clarke stepped in between them. "You shouldn't do this here."

Kane didn't look away from Bellamy, but his words were directed at her and they sounded annoyed. " _This_ doesn't concern you, Miss Griffin."

Clarke had a different opinion. "It doesn't concern him or me or you." She motioned towards their small group. "This doesn't concern anyone. Not at this time, at least, because something tells me that all of us have bigger problems to worry about."

Bellamy looked at her at the same moment Kane did. "Your mother is a strong woman," he said. "I would have never expected her daughter to be so easily corrupted."

Bellamy's hands curled into fists, a feeling of protectiveness coming over him. But Clarke knew how to speak; he knew she wouldn't want him doing it for her.

As if to prove him right, Clarke smirked. "And it's clear you don't know the other Councilors as well as you thought you did."

Kane didn't quite smile but it was close, the expression tantalizing as if he were scorning a child. "You're aiding an abetting a wanted criminal. You yourself are a criminal. And I will not have criminals around these innocent people. As you said they already have enough to worry about." Kane looked back at Bellamy, disdain in his eyes. "Without having someone like him around to worsen their panic."

"Yes, we broke the law," Clarke admitted, "But being a member of the Council doesn't make your crimes any better. It just makes them legal."

"He attempted to take the life of the Chancellor," Kane pointed out, voice loud enough to where those in the back could hear it.

"Shumway-" Clarke started, but for this Bellamy cut her off.

"Shumway gave me the gun," he said, monotone. "Shumway, the leader of _your_ Guard, was working with Sydney. I just wanted on the dropship."

Kane's expression gave nothing away. "Even if that were true, it doesn't change the fact that you were the one who fired the shot."

"And he's the one that imprisoned my sister for existing. He's the one that had my mother floated," Bellamy said, his impassivity cracking. "Being even doesn't begin to cover it."

That last part probably didn't help his case but Bellamy didn't care. So he had been relieved when he discovered that the Chancellor hadn't died by his hand. But that didn't mean he wished him well either.

Kane was about to say something else when he was interrupted by the man he'd been arguing with earlier. "You should know that this whole deck is an electrical fire waiting to happen."

Kane cast a cursory glance at him. "That's why you need to lead these people out of here. _Please._ " He turned back to Bellamy, but Clarke was the one who spoke.

"We don't have time for this," she snapped. "Look, Diana Sydney is a killer and she was on the Council. She was right there sitting next to you every day but you didn't even notice. And yet you're willing to make the same judgement call on someone you don't even know? Someone who risked his life just to get to his sister because of the position you put him in? Someone who kept the blood of three hundred people off your hands by helping to get my father's message through the Ark?"

Clarke took a step closer, dissolving the space between her and Kane. "This isn't about laws anymore. This, right now, is about surviving the next few hours. So why doesn't the Council stop handing out death sentences and start trying to keep people alive for once?"

Bellamy stared at the back of Clarke's head, surprised by her outburst. She was standing up for him and not because she had to, but because she actually agreed with what she was saying.

Kane's gaze bored into hers but Clarke didn't look away. He stayed there for another second before turning back to the blocked door. "Mess Hall," he barked at the other man. "Go. _Go_."

Bellamy watched as the guy who couldn't have been much older than him began herding the people down the corridor. But then he hesitated and turned back around. "So you're going to save everyone but yourself?" the guy asked incredulously. "This is nuts."

The contempt drained from Kane's features and he looked somber, voice low. He said something but Bellamy couldn't make it out. When he was finished, the Counselor walked back to the blockage and started pulling in an attempt to move it.

But it didn't budge and Bellamy stood there for a moment, undecided. He could guess that more people were probably on the other side of the debris and walking away, even if it was from Kane, didn't feel right. Sitting and waiting in the Mess Hall seemed pointless. And waiting as more people died was just wrong.

"I'll catch up with you," he said to Clarke. Then Bellamy walked up beside Kane to the blockage and gripped a broken frame of something in his hands.

Kane cast him a sidelong look, but if he was planning on making some quip, he held it back. "Don't think that this makes me trust you," the older man said.

"Good, because I'm not doing this for you." Bellamy pulled on the frame and though he heard the metal groan, it still didn't move.

He tried again, just as more hands appeared on either side of him and Bellamy looked to his right, meeting Clarke's eyes. He wasn't even surprised that she'd stayed. They had all stayed, and eight pairs of hands was enough to move the mesh of debris out of the way.

Beyond it was a door and again, with a few of the strongest there, Bellamy included, they were able to wedge it open. Heat blasted from the opening, stinging Bellamy's face and drying out his corneas.

"We can take it from here," Kane said, as he slipped through the door. The others retracted, satisfied with their accomplishment. They seemed to hesitate, but then the sudden eruption of sparks behind them was enough to coax them back down the way they'd come.

Bellamy stayed where he was, as did Clarke. "Not going to the Mess Hall?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "This is Earth Monitoring. My mom could be in here."

Well if she was going in, Bellamy thought, he definitely was. So he took the lead, Clarke following close behind as the heat engulfed them. The room was horribly uncomfortable, stifling and humid. Even the air, what little here there was, seemed to stick to the back of his throat.

Now that Bellamy knew exactly where he was, he recognized the room of Earth Monitoring. Screens decorated the far wall, some of their faces flickering, others black. Counters of controls and buttons rose around him, chairs and shattered glass strewn across the floor.

Bellamy's eyes landed on the unconscious figures lying, unmoving, at his feet. The guy Bellamy's age had retrieved oxygen masks from the other corridor and started distributing them, holding one to the man under one of the desks.

Bellamy didn't really know what to do. As Clarke slid smoothly into her role as physician, he was a bit slower in taking one of the masks and pestering some of the people to breathe. He named off the ones he recognized: Sinclair, Banes, an electrical technician whose name he'd forgotten after months of being demoted. Bellamy inexplicably harbored resentment for each of them, but he was quick to remind himself that these people were their best chance at fixing the Ark. Or coming up with another course of action, preferably one that included them all surviving this.

Bellamy looked around the room, past Clarke and the others, gaze pausing on Kane and the mask he held up to...Jaha.

That resentment inside Bellamy doubled, and though he was grateful for not having the word murderer permanently stamped over his head, that did nothing to ease the hate he felt towards Thelonious Jaha.

Yet again, here was the man who had thrown his sister into the Sky Box. Who'd had his mother floated. After seeing him in the Mess Hall, a small part of Bellamy had actually wished Jaha had died. Wished for one fleeting second, that he'd succeeded in killing the Ark's Chancellor.

But no. Instead, he'd just helped save his life.


	23. Author

**I'm sorry! I will update, I just got behind on some stuff. MY APOLOGIES. The next chapter is coming, I just have some writer's block. But look on the brighter side, SEASON THREE PREMIERS IN LIKE, THREE DAYS!**


	24. Author's Note 2

**I am sorry I'm still behind! But I really need someone to freak out with over that last episode! Bellarke is happening, Guys. It's happening.**


	25. Chapter Twenty Three: Clarke

**This was the hardest chapter. Oh my gosh. It was hard because it includes a lot of the original dialogue from The Calm (episode 11) with my own twist of events. Sorry, I was busy working on my own novel and procrastinating over this one. I think it'll have about four more chapters but dang, this could actually go on for a whole other book. But I'm not doing that. I still have to edit this so please ignore the mistakes. Oh, and I screamed during all of that second episode. Bellarke is happening, Guys. It's on its way.**

Her mother wasn't there.

Clarke surveyed the broken room, her heart hitching in her chest as she turned in a slow circle, eyes cast to the floor. Unconscious figures lay around her and her eyes searched their faces, wet with sweat and tracked through with grime, but none were Abby. Earth Monitoring was small and it took only a moment for Clarke to come to terms with the fact hat her mother wasn't among them.

Clarke's chest throbbed, but she swallowed the fear and turned her focus on the people that needed it.

"I can't get a pulse!" someone screamed. Clarke whipped around. It was the guy who had been speaking to Kane earlier, broad-shouldered and sandy-haired. He was stooped beside an unresponsive man, skin a deep russet color, his face covered with a mask.

Clarke's medical instincts kicked in and she dropped to her knees beside the both of them. "Move," she ordered, and the guy's brown eyes met hers. She clasped her hands together and pressed them over the man's chest, beginning compressions. Clarke counted down the seconds. She'd seen enough people die today and was ready to blow into the man's mouth when his eyes suddenly flew open.

He coughed, gripping onto the mask and swallowing lungfuls of air.

Clarke sat back, her own breath heavy. She glanced down at her hands, still stained with flecks of blood from earlier. She'd just saved a man's life with the blood of someone else on her hands. _You're okay._

She shook that thought out before it could become too deeply rooted, looking back at the guy sitting on the man's other side. He was gazing at her with a look of approval, upper lip lined in stubble. "Impressive, Griffin."

Clarke raised an eyebrow, ignoring the surge of guilt that shot through her at the praise. "You know who I am?"

He scoffed, much too lightheartedly for the lethal situation they were in. "Kind of hard to ignore the poster girl calling Doomsday. Or, Doomsday Part Two. I'm Wick."

Clarke smirked, "Remind me to shake your hand later," she said, helping the man lying on the ground into a sitting position. She looked pointedly into his face. "You're going to be all right," she told him. _You're okay._ "We're getting you guys out of here."

"Or, to be more accurate," Wick interjected, "We're sort of hoping your guys will help _us_ all get out of here."

Clarke cast him a warning look, before asking the oxygen-deprived man his name. His breath fogged the mask and he pulled it off long enough to talk. "Sinclair," he wheezed, dark eyes looking back and forth between her's and Wick's. "Now hurry and tell me, how're the other Stations?"

Clarke pursed her lips, looking over at Wick, who faltered for the first time. "I'm not gonna lie," he mumbled with a shrug, "they're in bad shape. We have electrical fires and a few Stations without oxygen. Power's out in all of them, as far as I can tell. But it could be worse. We could be dead."

The man pulled off the mask again. "That's bad."

"Which is why keeping you alive is relatively important."

"And the Chancellor?"

Clarke looked over the room, eyes landing on Bellamy who was staring at someone supine on the floor. Jaha.

He was alive, Clarke could see, by the breath fogging under his own mask and Bellamy met her eyes briefly. His own look haunted, lips tucked into a thin line.

She turned back to Sinclair. "He seems to be doing fine."

"Help me up," Sinclair wheezed, and Clarke abided, sliding under one arm as Wick supported the other. Sinclair swayed a moment but managed to stay in an upright position, eyes squinted in the direction of Jaha. Clarke looked back to him herself, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach at what she found.

Jaha was staring at Bellamy, but not with the same anxiety the others were. Maybe Clarke was just imagining it, but she thought he seemed almost impressed. The chancellor rose to his feet, waving off the help of Kane. "Bellamy Blake," he said, words reaching around the room as he stood tall. He didn't even sway. "The man who shot me."

The tension stretched all the way to where Clarke stood, as tangible as the heat in the failing air.

One of the men on the floor struggled to get up, eyeing Bellamy as if he were something dangerous. "Step back, Chancellor!" But Jaha stayed where he was.

Bellamy grimaced. "It was nothing personal," he said, but Clarke thought she heard a slight waver in his voice.

Jaha narrowed his eyes. "The taking of a life should be very personal."

"Except I didn't take yours," Bellamy murmured. "But you have. You've done your fair share of taking." A cold fury radiated deep within his voice, inching towards the surface and at risk of spilling over the brink.

Kane stepped forward, exchanging a look between both Jaha and Bellamy. "I think that's enough."

"I think I should remind you that it was Shumway who gave me the gun. The gun to kill you," Bellamy said, disregarding Kane's words. "That seems worth mentioning."

"Chancellor, move back!" that same man shouted again from across the room, short of breath and weary.

An odd mix of anger and resentment formed inside Clarke's chest, ingrained so deep it chafed against her bones. She stood from her crouch and stalked over to Jaha, ignoring the tinny voice that told her this was Bellamy's fight. It was, she knew, but that didn't mean he should go without support.

Jaha's dark gaze fixed on her, the faulty lights of the screens making his eyes glow. He simpered when he looked at her, which somehow made her anger worse. "I'm sorry to say that your mother isn't here, Clarke."

She stopped beside Bellamy, his presence inviting compared to the rest in this tight room. "I know. This is about Bellamy." She looked over at him, his lips still pursed, eyes hooded and low.

"Clarke, I appreciate your candor, but-"

Clarke cut Jaha off, ignoring the caveat Kane shot her. "Bellamy has paid for his crimes, and for crimes that weren't his to pay," her voice rang throughout the room. "But if you want to make it out of this, you'll need all the people you can get, which includes the both of us. Here, Bellamy isn't your shooter. And you are not our Chancellor. Right now we're just people trying to figure out a way to survive."

At that, Jaha smirked, gaze flickering between her's and Bellamy's. His expression turned condescending. "Excuse me if I don't feel very inclined to work beside the man who tried to have me killed."

"Why not?" Clarke asked, injecting some faux sympathy into her voice. "We're willing to work beside the man who had my father and his mother killed."

His smirk vanished and Jaha's eyes skirted from hers. He took a step forward, towards Clarke and though she wanted to withdraw, she didn't. She couldn't manage to give him the satisfaction.

"That was part of the job," Jaha told her quietly. "There are rules and there have to be repercussions for breaking them. But it doesn't give me any pleasure when they're enforced, especially when it came to Jake."

"No," Clarke bit out. "You don't get to mourn him. You don't get to feel like you lost a friend. I understand that you were following the law, and that may have made you a good leader, but it doesn't make you a good man."

She broke away from his gaze and turned to the room. Eyes met hers, watching her with a look of skepticism and scorn. She distantly noted that Wick wasn't with them. "As of now, we're pardoned of our crimes." She looked back at Jaha. "Because you'll need all the hands you can get, and we won't help you to the ground if we think another cell is waiting for us down there."

This time, Jaha actually smiled, but it felt demeaning. "That's valiant of you, Clarke. If only there were a way to get to the ground. We have no launching power. And I'm estimating, from the damage, the death count must at least be-"

"Around fifteen hundred," Kane answered automatically and Clarke looked over at him, his brows knitting together, "from what we could tell. Whole Stations could've been lost. What's left . . . I can only assume the others succumbed to hypoxia."

"Hey, Guys, I found something!" Wick suddenly shouted and Clarke looked towards the room's exit. He hurried over to the middle of the room with a sluggish Sinclair in tow.

Jaha held Kane's eyes for another moment before looking to Wick. "What'd you find?"

An eager glint sparkled in Wick's eyes. "Data from the Exodus launch. The monitor says that service hatch beta was _manually_ sealed before the launch from _our_ side." He looked excitedly to all of them in turn but Clarke just glanced at Bellamy who seemed just as confused as she was. She was about to ask what this meant, but Kane spoke first. "There was someone in the Service Bay?"

Oh. They were talking of other people, possibly still alive on the ship.

"Are there survivors?" One of the the other men in the room asked.

"So they jumped ship at the last moment?" Jaha asked.

Kane shook his head. "Maybe Sydney threw them off. Maybe they were a threat." He turned to Sinclair an Wick. "Could they still be in the Service Bay?"

Wick scratched at his chin. "Well sure. If they hunkered down and got lucky, yeah they could still be ticking, but they won't be for long."

Kane's grim expression lifted at that and he exchanged an zealous look with Jaha. "Well how do we get to them?"

Clarke wished she'd studied those blueprints of the Ark more closely, but waited for Wick as patiently as she could, as he tilted his head back and forth in silent debate. "We . . . I guess we could try the maintenance shaft," but the doubtful look he shot Sinclair made a leaden weight fall into Clarke's stomach. "It's sealed on both sides, so you'd have pressurization-"

"And it's pressed right against the fuel pods," added Sinclair. "Without power to the coolant system it'll be very hot in there."

They lapsed into silence, broken a second later by Kane's sigh. "I-"

"I'll go," Bellamy suddenly proffered from beside her and Clarke blanched. _No w_ as her first thought. It came out of nowhere, hitting her squarely in the chest. She whirled on him. "Bellamy, you can't-"

He looked down at her and some of the hardness in his eyes disappeared. "Clarke, I'll be fine."

But Clarke shook her head. He couldn't know what that shaft held. Couldn't know for certainty if he's make it through. Maybe it was too narrow for him. Maybe . . .

Maybe she'd have a better shot.

"I'll do it," Clarke said, the words out before she could stop them.

Now it was Bellamy's turn to object. The hardness reappeared again, onyx eyes blazing. "You're not going in there," he snapped at her with surprising harshness. "I'm-"

"I'm smaller," Clarke said, turning so she was speaking not just at Bellamy, but to everyone. She looked at them pleadingly.

But it was Kane who spoke. "Blake is right. It is dangerous. We aren't even sure if there's-"

"I can reach it," Clarke told him firmly. Maybe it was selfish of her to offer herself up instead of Bellamy, but in that moment, she didn't care. Clarke would gladly be selfish if it meant keeping those she cared about alive. She'd meant what she'd said in the Prison Station. _I can't lose you, too._ Bellamy mattered to her now; as a partner, as an ally, as a friend.

"And I can do it in half the time it would take any of you," she pointed out.

Kane appraised her. "That's . . . also true."

Bellamy moved in front of Clarke before she had a chance to say anything, blocking her, _protecting_ her. "You can't actually be considering this," Bellamy hissed, voice rising until it teased the border of a shout. " _I'm_ the one who's going in that shaft."

Clarke pushed her way past him. It was like forcing over a wall. She looked at Wick. "You said so yourself those people are practically out of time. You don't need big and strong, here. You need small and fast and standing around arguing that I'm not that is just going to cost the people in the Service Bay their lives."

"Shut up, Clarke," Bellamy snapped at her. But Clarke knew what those around her did; she was their best bet,whether Bellamy saw that or not.

"She's right," Kane deadpanned, meeting Clarke's eyes. "Time is of the essence. And Clarke would make it through faster."

"Then it's done," she said.

Bellamy turned around again, towering over her. "No, it's not. This is insane."

Clarke looked up at him, taken somewhat aback by the outburst. _If you so much as scream, I promise, I will kill you._ It was incredible how far they'd come. She splayed a hand over his chest as he stared hard at Kane. "You said you'd be fine," Clarke told him. "Why shouldn't I be, too?"

He looked away from Kane and down at her and this time, the hardness in his eyes didn't subside. It shattered, into a million small pieces that showed an emotion Clarke couldn't place behind them. It was bare and it was vulnerable and it was so very un-Bellamy.

"I'll be fine," she repeated. _I'm just crawling through a hot shaft to the Service Bay that may or may not even be there,_ she thought to herself.

But she knew better than to ask anyone how it could possibly go wrong.

* * *

"You'll need this battery to open the door to the Bay," Wick told Clarke as they traversed the corridors, extending a small bag to her. Clarke took it and flipped open the lip, revealing a box tucked inside, about the size of her palm. A coil of wire connected to the base of it. "You're going to hook this end piece up to the door's panel and turn on the battery, got it?"

Clarke nodded.

"Are you sure about where this thing leads?" Bellamy asked. He'd insisted on coming with them to the shaft opening, striding beside Clarke with a dark look on his face. He lowered his voice. "What if this guy's wrong?"

Wick glanced across at Bellamy, from the opposite side of Clarke. "I'd be a terrible engineer if I were. And it's not guy. It's Wick. Just . . . in case you were wondering."

Bellamy didn't even look at him. "I think you're confusing me with someone who cares."

They turned onto another corridor, still cast in shadows. They were warded off though by their three flashlights. The echo of their footfalls swirled around Clarke, her anxiety doubling when Wick finally came to a stop.

"There it is," Wick said, making a motion with the flashlight's beam and Clarke's gaze fell to a squat panel with the words Authorization Only written in a bold, blood-red text. "Doorway to freedom."

 _Or certain death,_ Clarke thought dryly but gave a nod outwardly. She looked back at Bellamy, words suddenly failing her. "I'll be okay," she said again, but this time, she didn't know whose benefit she was saying it for; Bellamy's or her own.

He looked about ready to say something, but Clarke acted first. She rose on her heels and wrapped her arms around his neck, unconcerned by the way he froze. Then he thawed and his own arms were around her, circling her waist and practically lifting her up.

A weird feeling fluttered in Clarke's chest, warm and languid. For the first time since she watched her father being taken away by the Guard, she felt safe.

It ended much sooner than she wanted and Clarke unwound her hold on Bellamy and stepped back. His eyes bored into hers as the sucking noise of the panel door being opened came from behind her. She broke away from Bellamy's gaze and turned to Wick, bending down to look into the small, dark hatch.

He pulled back and met her eyes. "It's not that hot," he said confidently.

Clarke frowned.

"So it's a little warm," Wick amended. "Sinclair doesn't know what he's talking about."

Now Clarke knew he was lying but she gave him a small smile anyway. Her eyes fell back to the hatch and she felt her throat tighten. She gripped the small battery in her hand and crouched down in front of the entrance.

She was greeted by a hot draft, singeing her cheeks and burning her eyes. Her vision turned watery as she shown her flashlight up it, revealing a set of metal tubes she'd be forced to crawl over.

The air in her lungs suddenly felt very thin. She took a deep breath, the heat going down her throat and making her insides feel just as hot. "Okay," she called back to Wick and Bellamy. She wanted to turn around and get a last look at them, but wouldn't let herself. She put all her focus in lying as flat as she could, ignoring the scorched metal rods burning through the front of her shirt. They bit into her bare forearms as Clarke started crawling, the heat growing worse the farther she went.

It was smothering, as choking as smoke. Every drag of breath burned her nose and she let out a muffled cry as the rods grew even hotter beneath her.

 _Second-degree burns,_ she thought. It wasn't enough to do permanent damage. Not yet anyway . . .

She forced herself to go faster, gripping the flashlight and battery with white-knuckles blotched red. Sweat beaded on her lip and ran in small rivers down her temples. It pooled on her back, making the fabric of her shirt stick to her like a second skin. Her breath came in shallow spurts and she stared ahead. She thought she could see the end of the shaft and Clarke didn't waste any time. She struggled over the burning rods, feeling as the heat kissed her arms, her wrists, her fingers. Feeling as it melted off the first few layers of tissue.

Clarke crawled another meter and was met by a sealed vat. A lever protruded outwards from the left side and Clarke grabbed it. A numbed feeling shot up from where she touched it as Clarke pulled it down, and it took another moment for her brain to register the pain of it. She cried out, splashes of darkness erupting over her eyes. She snatched back her reddened fingers as the door hissed and slid open.

She clamored out as fast as she could, losing her hold and falling to the floor the rest of the way. The heat disappeared and Clarke was left with just the pain, her fingers quaking around the battery and flashlight. She cast its beam around the room.

She was at the end of a corridor, facing a transparent door, as wide as the corridor itself. She flashed her light over it and caught the sight of bodies strewn inside the room. The Service Bay.

Clarke blinked back the stars in her vision and rose to her feet. The door's panel was already off, wires spilling out like a damaged organ, bleeding and broken. Clarke pulled out the battery, nearly dropping it in her hurry to get the door open. She prayed she wasn't too late as she followed Wick's instructions. It was hard to see through the thick binds of wire and to reel in her focus, Clarke imagined the end piece she held as a scalpel, the wires a plexus of nerves she needed to meticulously maneuver through.

 _There._ Clarke plugged in the end piece and turned on the battery.

For one terrible moment, nothing happened. Then the door opened and Clarke stumbled inside, flashing her light around.

Slowly, the room stirred to life, hunched figures sitting up, closed lids blinking awake. Clarke checked them all, telling them to get up, to breathe. She stopped at one figure, their head turned away and Clarke bent down.

"Hey," she told the person, placing a gentle hand on a frail shoulder. "You have to wake up. C'mon." She reached over and turned the person's head to get a better look-

And went still. Clarke's hand under the person's chin froze. She stared at the woman's familiar face, coated in sweat and dirt. Their eyes fluttered open.

" _Mom_?"


	26. Author's Note 3

**Question! So, would anyone be interested in reading a modernized Clarke x Bellamy setting? Because I got this idea to base it sort of off the film Ten Things I Hate About You and thought it would make an interesting dynamic. I'm usually not one to take characters out of original settings, but I figured I might give it a try for writing practice; expand my horizons. If not, let me know.**


	27. Chapter Twenty Four: Bellamy

**Woah! Thirty-something new followers this week? Why'd this get so popular all of a sudden? Dang, thanks, Guys! It's a good thing then how I know I'm going to end this. I'm not there yet, though I'm getting close. This isn't edited yet, but I do have a little prize in this chapter for all of you. Please review!**

Bellamy was no novice to fear. He'd felt plenty of it in his life, from the moment he had to clamp one small hand over his sister's mouth to keep her cries from permeating the corridors. He knew what it was like to be scared for himself, but if Octavia had taught him anything, it was that it was so much worse to fear for someone else.

And right now, standing outside the door Clarke was supposed to be coming through, Bellamy was glad Octavia was far away from the Ark. He hoped she was someplace nicer, somewhere that wasn't so touched and tainted by fear.

Bellamy clenched his hands, ignoring the way his nails bit into the skin. "Should it be taking this long?" he asked Wick who stood by the opposite wall, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

He switched his weight onto his other foot. "She'll do it. Clarke Griffin doesn't exactly strike me as the type to give up easily."

"She's not," Bellamy whispered, low enough so that Wick wouldn't hear. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the torrent of unease inside him. It mingled with the frustration he felt towards himself and the anger towards Clarke for having taken such a risk in the first place. Maybe the terrible pit in his stomach was guilt, but it was something else, too. It was the feeling he got when Octavia was in trouble. It was a feeling that made him want to tear the whole ship apart if that's what it took, but he settled for staying rooted to the spot, keeping his eyes on that door.

The minutes came and went and it became harder for Bellamy to stay where he was. He was seconds away from crawling into that shaft himself when the sound of something snagged his attention.

Footfalls.

He waited, eyes wide as figures appeared through the transparent door just a moment before it opened, revealing a very dishelved Clarke. Bellamy was so relieved it took him a second to register the second person-a woman- clinging to her side, an arm draped over Clarke's neck. There was something familiar about her, though, and Bellamy felt himself blanch. "Is that"-?

"Abby?" Kane's voice came from behind Bellamy and the counselor hurried forward, taking Abby Griffin's other side. Her clothes were matted and damp, and a grisly stain bled through the front of her shirt, but she was alive and responsive enough to look sidelong at Kane.

Clarke acquiesced, letting him take her weight. But as she moved away from her mother, Bellamy didn't miss Clarke's wince of pain. His eyes dropped to the burnt fabric of her shirt, and his body moved without violation.

He stopped in front of her as she met his eyes with a smirk. "Told you I'd be fine."

Bellamy grabbed her arm gently and turned it over. He grimaced at the sight, of torn cloth and the bands of bright red decorating her forearms. "This is your definition of fine?" He tried to quiet the undertone of anger, but Bellamy never had a good handle on that emotion. It had its way with him.

"Breathing is my definition of fine," Clarke said, glancing between his gaze and his hold on her arm. "I can handle a few burns."

Bellamy frowned, unconvinced, but dropped his grip. The heat of her skin lingered on his fingertips.

He wanted to say something else, such as how he should've been the one to go in that shaft instead; how fatal her stubbornness could've been, but he just gritted his teeth to keep from any of that slipping out. He looked over to where Kane was supporting Abby. "How's she doing?"

A line appeared between Clarke's brows, the beams from the nearby flashlights kindling like fire in her eyes. "She'll be okay. There's a cut to her abdomen like she was . . . stabbed, but it doesn't seem to be septic." Her voice took on a rushed quality and Bellamy didn't miss the crack in it.

A strange urge to comfort her suddenly crashed over him. He wanted to make her feel better, as impossible as that seemed in their current situation. He really wanted to, but what came out was, "She's not dead yet, Clarke."

Clarke looked up at him and the years seemed to melt from her face, exposing just a young girl underneath, terrified of losing their parent.

It was weird, if not a little frightening, to see her like that and Bellamy pitched his voice low, until only she could hear him. "Look, I don't know if we're going to make it out of this. If you haven't noticed, I'm not much of an idealist. But I can promise you, we're going to try."

Something else sparked in those eyes of hers and her lips curved upwards a little. Though it was just an echo of a smile, Bellamy would take it.

The moment was shattered by Wick. "You had us worried there for a second," the engineer said, materializing by Bellamy's side. This guy annoyed him for some reason, but Bellamy had to admit that he at least knew what he was doing.

Wick gestured with a tilt of his head to the rest of the crowd. "C'mon. Jaha told us to meet him and Sinclair in the Council Room."

* * *

They were sitting around the circular table, with Jaha at its head. Abby stood in up front with Kane, completely lucid and able to stand upright on her own. Bellamy was resting against the wall with Clarke at his side, glancing over at her mother every once in awhile.

Clarke had nearly rescued thirty people and they all crowded in the room, staring at Jaha, waiting.

When he spoke, his voice was grim, so unlike the tone Bellamy was used to hearing. "The hard and simple fact is that in fifty one hours, life on the Ark will no longer be possible," he said. No one made any sound of surprise. It came as no shock to any of them.

"I choose to find consolation in one remarkable truth. The surviving members of the One Hundred have proven themselves to be more resilient than we ever could have ima"—

"Wait," Bellamy interrupted. His heart suddenly felt tight in his chest as hope unfurled inside it, bright and relentless. It was a force that would crush him if it were contradicted. "The Hundred . . . you're saying they're alive? For certain?"

Jaha's eyes looked up to him, and he nodded. "That's what I'm saying. We received message after the Culling."

A feeling of such intense relief flooded Bellamy. His sister was alive. She'd made it to the ground. Though Jaha hadn't said that exactly, it meant that Octavia had a chance.

"Our legacy will go on," Jaha kept going. "And for that I am not only grateful, but I am proud."

"So what do we tell our constituents to do now?" One of the women piped up. "What do _we_ do now?"

Jaha closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them. "Look inside. Find your peace."

 _What?_ Anger curled inside Bellamy. Just a second ago, he'd actually felt calm, high on the relief that his sister was safe. But now? He stood up abruptly. "That's it?" He practically shouted. "That's your big plan? To 'find our peace'?"

Jaha sighed tiredly. "There's nothing else to be done."

Bellamy waited for more. For an explanation. For something, but it never came. And when he realized it wouldn't, he laughed. He actually laughed. "So that's it? We give up?" Bellamy pushed his way forward. "Do you have any idea what I've done to get here? To just survive? And now you're telling me, you're telling all of us, to just a _ccept_ it?"

Jaha looked unfazed by his outburst, as calm and collective as if they were discussing filing. "I just told you there is nothing else that can be done. It is inevitable. So yes, I am telling you to accept it."

Bellamy wanted to shout. To bang his fist on the front of this table that had served nearly a hundred years' worth of their society's choices. The place that had agreed to sentence so many to death. And now he was here, being sentenced himself.

"No," Bellamy hissed. "I didn't do all this for it to end this way!"

"I can assure you, no one did," Jaha replied, in that same maddening monotone. "None of us wanted this."

"And yet you're so willing to make that choice for us. You know I wouldn't have bothered helping you if I knew you were just going to say this. That you weren't going to actually do anything useful besides kill the rest of us."

"Blake!" Kane admonished, but Bellamy ignored him. Why did it matter anyway? He was just going to be dead in twenty one hours. "No," he repeated. "No, I'm not doing this. I won't just sit around and wait to die. I"—

"Bellamy," Clarke grabbed his arm before he could storm from the room. She looked up at him, as calm as Jaha but with a different resolution in her blue eyes. "Bellamy, there's nothing more we can do."

His breathing was haggard and his heart slammed against his ribs, but the way Clarke was looking at him gave him pause. It was enough to make him absorb what she was saying.

"But I . . ." his voice shook. "I promised you we would try. _This_ is not trying. This is giving up without a fight."

"We fought," she insisted, grabbing his other hand firmly in hers. It was drastically smaller than his, but it fit like they were made to be there. "We've been fighting this whole time. Not once did we give up. But now we're here and there's nowhere to go."

"But . . ." Now Bellamy was just scrounging for reasons. For an out that, as Clarke had said, wasn't there. He looked up, at the grey ceiling, as if it would hold some kind of answer. But maybe he'd already gotten it.

Bellamy's worst fear hadn't been dying. It had been about losing his sister. But Octavia wasn't lost; she was on the ground, alive. Rebuilding the world.

He wouldn't die thinking his sister was already dead. He'd die knowing she was okay.

"I'm releasing all available resources to the surviving citizens of the Ark.," Jaha said. "There will be no more rationing. What we have belongs to all of us."

And then he brought down the gavel for the last time.

* * *

As Bellamy had watched his mother being floated, he'd wondered what everyone else wondered; at every execution man had ever overseen.

 _What was it like to die?_

He'd dreamed about it after witnessing his mother being shot out into space. Had tried to see through her eyes, but he never managed it for long. It made Bellamy feel trapped and suffocated and helpless.

But now, quite literally counting down the hours to his own demise, Bellamy finally knew.

Dying sucked.

Maybe faster was better. Anything certainly seemed better than sitting on the floor with an apple in his hand and waiting for death to show up. It wasn't something he should've been impatient for, but the wait was probably just as bad as death itself.

He tossed the apple into the air, not wanting to take a bite of it. The fact that it would be the last thing he ever ate sort of made it lose its appeal.

A shadow crossed over him and Clarke sat back down. She'd been with her mom for what felt like the last hour but couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes and Bellamy was actually glad to have her back at his side. It made him feel less alone. It made him feel like they were about to do something and avoid death, like they'd done every day since meeting each other.

But she just let out a sigh. She unwrapped something small in her hands, meticulously folded in tinfoil. She handed him something.

"What's this?" Bellamy asked, looking at the brown disk in his palm.

Clarke unwrapped another and shoved it in her mouth. "It's chocolate. You eat it."

Again, it didn't have the same appeal as it probably would if he weren't dying, but Bellamy complied. It was stale, but sweet, and unlike anything he'd ever tasted before.

"How long has it been?" he asked, looking sidelong at her.

Clarke crammed the wrappers into her pocket. "Two hours. Only nineteen more to go."

"This doesn't feel right," he said, leaning his head back. "Just sitting here. I feel like I'm asking for it."

"I know." She sighed. "I'm sorry. For you it's different. You were supposed to get back to Octavia. I never . . . I never counted on making it to the ground."

"That doesn't mean you don't deserve to," he instantly replied.

But Clarke just looked down, her blonde hair forming a curtain between them. "I had my chance. I could've been there, with the others. But I don't regret what I did. Staying. Warning all those people." A pause. "Meeting you."

Bellamy glanced at her just as she looked up, and he saw the earnest there. "I doubt that was your first thought when you found me in the storage locker."

"Definitely not. In fact, my initial thought was how this guy was still alive. It defied the odds."

"Doesn't feel much like that now." Bellamy looked around the room.

Clarke leaned back, too. "Maybe we weren't supposed to make it out of this alive."

"You believe in that?"

"After how many times we've been screwed, can you really blame me?"

Despite the situation, Bellamy smiled. "Fair point."

Clarke shifted on her side, until she was turned fully to him, her head still resting against the wall. "I mean it. I'm glad I met you."

A warning went off in Bellamy's mind, painting his vision red. "Clarke"—

"I mean you may not be the most pleasant person, but if it had been someone else in that storage locker, I would already be dead."

"Clarke, we're not doing this," he said, the words coming out as a snap.

She gave him a puzzled look. "Doing what?"

Bellamy gestured between them. "This. Saying our goodbyes. I'm not good at it." That wasn't completely true; Bellamy had spoken them before, but he wasn't interested in a play-by-play. Maybe it was because he didn't want the memories. Or maybe, it was the simple fact that he didn't want to say it because he was . . . scared to. Because that meant the end. Of him. Of the Ark. Of the blonde girl sitting so close to him.

Clarke smirked, but there was a sadness in it that sent a painful throb through Bellamy's chest. "Fine. You don't have to care. But I do," she deadpanned. "I _need_ you to know how much you did. For a lot of people, not just your sister."

"Clarke, stop."

"You're good, Bellamy. You're a good man and it wouldn't be fair for you to die without hearing that from someone."

" _Clarke_ ," The way he said her name sounded almost panicked. Something inside him was fissuring, cracking, breaking through the dam he hadn't known had been there in the first place. "I told you I don't want to do this."

Clarke didn't listen. "I do. I have to."

"I don't care what you want," he hissed, the dam breaking further and letting in a sensation that had no name. All he knew was that it was an all-consuming feeling that completely and utterly terrified him, even more than death. "I'm telling you to stop."

But Clarke wasn't like other people. She didn't cow under his gaze. She was persistent. "I never got to say goodbye to my Dad. Not really. Not in the way that I wanted. But I can say it to you, so I"—

And the dam shattered.

Bellamy didn't know what he was doing. It was as if the feeling had overpowered every shred of reason he had, drowning him from the inside out. His hand reached over to cup her face. He didn't give her a chance to object or to even understand what he was planning to do before his lips were on hers.

Her response came a second later and it wasn't her pulling away. It was her lips moving against his, tasting of chocolate and smelling of burnt hair. She was everywhere, in the air around him. In his lungs and in his blood.

Only when it was done did Bellamy understand why he'd been afraid. Because now, staring into those brilliant pools of blue, he knew what else he wanted, but had no time to have.

And that was when the reality of death r _eally_ pissed him off.

He pulled himself to his feet.

"Bellamy?" Clarke asked, voice breathy, but Bellamy just extended his hand down to her. "Come on," he said.

She frowned. "What are we doing?"

Honestly, he had no idea. But Bellamy was following his instinct. He was done playing dead. If he was still breathing, he would still fight.

Clarke followed him out the Council Room, having to fast-walk to keep up with him. "Bellamy"—

"Not yet," he answered brusquely, nearly running down the corridor that appeared before them. They made their way back to Earth Monitoring where Kane had told them earlier where he'd be. He'd wanted to continue running simulations and right now, that sounded like their best option.

Kane stood in the middle of the room, his hand under his chin as he stared up at the flickering screens. Bellamy came to a halt beside him. "Did you find anything?" he asked, his voice husky to his own ears.

Kane glanced across at him and let out a sigh. "Other than a dozen ways this ship will fail?" He shook his head. "Jaha was right. The Ark can't be saved."

Bellamy wanted to argue. He was preparing for it, when the door suddenly hushed open and in walked Jaha with Abby at his heels. He carried a roll of what appeared to be blueprints in his hands.

His eyes met Kane's eyes. "Have you tried not saving it?" Jaha asked almost smugly.

Bellamy turned to the Chancellor. "What are you talking about?"

Jaha smirked. "I'm talking about going home."

Bellamy hoped that wasn't code for afterlife, but he didn't say anything. He stood next to Clarke, crossing his arms over his chest. He did what the others did.

He waited.

"From where I stand," Jaha continued, "We have two options: die in space or probably die trying to get to the ground."

"That doesn't sound very promising," Bellamy remarked, but Jaha ignored him. And by this point, Bellamy was willing to keep listening.

"We have no more Exodus ships, Sir," Kane pointed out.

But again, Jaha didn't seem disheartened. "You're wrong, Kane. There is one."

 _Now,_ he had Bellamy's attention.

Jaha looked at each of them in turn. "We call it the Ark."

"What?" Clarke asked, but Jaha wasn't listening. "Sinclair, please tell us what would happen if we use the thrusters that keep the Ark in orbit to propel us _into_ the atmosphere instead."

Sinclair's eyebrows hitched up and he stared at Jaha with a look of vexation. "The Ark would . . . break apart," he said. "First into its original twelve Stations then further as the violence intensified. Ninety-five percent of the structures would explode on the way down."

"You think you're smart enough to pinpoint the five percent that wouldn't?"Jaha asked as he unraveled the bound blueprints.

Kane peered over at him incredulously. Bellamy felt the bewilderment on his own face, scared to hope, but it was better than nothing. It was better than sitting on the floor and waiting to die.

"Wait," Bellamy said, staring at the Chancellor. "You want to bring the Ark to the ground?"

Jaha looked at him. "What do you say to that, Bellamy Blake?" he asked, lips pulling up into a smirk. "Ready to see your sister again?"


	28. Chapter Twenty Five: Clarke

**I'm sorry it took long! But the next chapters should be easier. I think there will be two more. And yes, I am going to leave the ending open to interpretation, or I could take this on for an entire other fanfiction and integrate them into the world of the Mountain Men and grounders, and all that stuff. But I don't want to write all that, but it will be implied. Hopefully. Anyway, thank you! And please review! (Also, this isn't edited, so please ignore any mistakes)**

Clarke was once again holding hands with death. Or so it seemed as she watched Sinclair and Jaha discuss the details in hushed monotones. But she knew the most important pieces.

That there was no way to tell which Stations would blow up.

That there was no promise of even disconnecting the Stations from the body of the ship in the first place.

That, at any second, she could be reduced to ash.

A weird laugh bubbled up to her lips but she squashed it down. Not death by stars, or ground or gun. Not even by lack of air. She'd go in the one way she never expected.

By fire.

It would be the first cremation ever to happen on the Ark.

As if sensing her unease, Bellamy squeezed her hand and a different kind of heat leapt from his fingers into hers. "This could work, Clarke," he said quietly by her ear.

She nodded, eyes still on Jaha. She trusted that man as much as she did a murderer, because that's what he was. But now, she had to. She had to place her life in the very hands that had once held her father's. The very hands that had so easily let it go. "I hope you're right."

With his finger, Bellamy lifted her chin to him. His dark eyes were hard. Deadly. Like he could take on all of space alone. "It _will_ work," he amended.

She smirked at him. "I thought you weren't an idealist."

The corner of his lip turned upwards. "Only when you're a pessimist, because that's when I know we're screwed."

Clarke shook her head slightly and returned her gaze to Jaha. "So what happens now?" she asked no one in particular.

Jaha cast his eyes to her, looking incredibly sure for odds so bad. "Now we tell the others. We prepare, and pray we don't die."

* * *

The compact room was crammed with people, tied down to every part of the floor by buckles and ropes. It looked like the innards of the ship had been ripped out and Clarke was starting to feel a little suffocated, pressed up against the wall with a thick, yellow strap crossed over her. Her legs were drawn tightly into her chest and she cradled them in her arms, but already they were starting to cramp. It had taken nearly four hours to get everything ready and she'd been seated for one of them. She'd been calm. Still was, but now that they were getting close to launch, anxiety churned inside her and she was trying very hard not to think of fire or ash.

Maybe it would be easier if she didn't know how much heat hurt, because after crawling through that shaft, she knew what it was like to burn.

"You doing okay?" Bellamy asked from beside her, as tightly wedged between the rows of people as herself. Her mother was seated on her other side, next to Kane, and Clarke's elbows brushed against hers and Bellamy's. Drawing strength from the contact, she licked her very dry lips and looked over at him. "I'm fine."

His eyebrows drew together doubtfully. "You don't have to lie to me, Clarke."

She gripped her hands together, clutching onto the fabric of her pant legs. "I'm okay. Really. We're just . . . possibly dying." She tried her best at a smile. "You think I'd be used to that by now."

"Mecha Station good to go," a voice chirped from overhead, making Clarke's insides tense into knots. She shut her eyes for a second, breathing through her mouth.

His hand latched onto hers and she gripped it back gratefully. "If anyone's going to survive this, Clarke, it's us. We're too stubborn to die."

She knew it was an effort on his part to make light of the situation, but she found she couldn't join in. "Bellamy, I'm scared," she admitted, voice barely above the whisper. Clarke was never one to admit to it out loud, but she wanted to be honest now, if there was never a chance to be later.

Bellamy pulled her as close to him as he could, his eyes boring into hers. She glimpsed fear in them, but it was eclipsed by something stronger; his own fire, his iron will to survive.

In answer, he pressed his lips to her forehead and drew her into his chest.

"Hydra station, good to go."

"One by one, the voice sounded, ticking off the Stations.

"Agro station good to go."

"Factory Station, good to go."

"Aero Station, good to go."

And then, too soon:

"Chancellor Jaha, all Stations are prepared for launch."

Another hand was placed on Clarke's knee and she glanced over at her mother. Abby gave an encouraging nod and Clarke did the same. She looked back to Bellamy. If she was going to die, at least it'd be here. With the people she cared for.

Too many had gotten far less.

"In peace, may you leave this shore," came Jaha's orotund voice, diplomatic as ever from another Station. "In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground." A pause. "May we meet again."

Bellamy tightened his hold around her hand. "How poetic," he mumbled under his breath as the surrounding people echoed back the phrase.

Clarke let out a strained laugh, choked by fear and the many images of fire consuming her entirety. "Think you could do better?"

He didn't answer immediately, just pulled back enough until he was looking into her eyes again. She was close enough to see the multitudes of freckles splattered across his cheekbones like dozens of stars. His own galaxy.

"Thanks, Clarke," he whispered, eyes roving over her face as if to preserve the details of it.

She looked at him questioningly. "For what?"

"For climbing in that storage locker."

A warmth spread through Clarke, blotting out some of the anxiety. "I thought you didn't do goodbyes."

Bellamy sighed. "I'm not saying goodbye. I'm saying thank you."

She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. Somehow, this man had become a rock, an anchor throughout the lethality of the Ark. It seemed both sudden and languid, like it had been building over time without her realizing it. What began as a partnership founded on survival had been forged into something else by the hands of Death. Because there was no greater testament of trust than to put your life in the hands of another, and that's precisely what Clarke had done. She'd trusted Bellamy with her life, and his with hers. Not just once, but again and again, solidifying that trust until it had become something of steel.

It was unbeatable. It was unbreakable.

"Sinclair," Jaha said, pulling Clarke from her reverie. She stilled.

"Take us home."

She looked over at Sinclair who was sitting across from Kane with a pad balanced on his knees. "Initiating Sci Gov separation in five . . ."

Clarke gripped Bellamy's hands until her knuckles turned white.

"Four . . ."

The people around them held their breath.

"Three . . ."

She thought of herself as fire and ash.

"Two . . ."

Bellamy's eyes stayed on hers.

"One . . . Separate."

Clarke expected a loud crash. A surge as they plummeted downward. But none of that happened.

 _Nothing_ happened.

Bellamy's expression turned perplexed and heads exchanged between one another, fragmented murmurs erupting through the narrow space.

"What's going on?" Clarke asked, but before Bellamy could respond, Sinclair spoke. "Sir, remote detonations failed," he said, words coated in disdain. "We are negative for Sci Gov separation. Negative for launch."

Clarke heard Bellamy's hiss of breath and he slammed his head back in frustration. "You've got to be kidding me."

She didn't let go of his hand, ignoring her own questions that swam around her head.

"Can you fix it?" Jaha asked, voice cracked through the comm.

On this side, Clarke watched as Sinclair fussed over a pad, fingers flitting across the screen. "Not from here, Sir, no." A haunted look came into his eyes. "Someone will have to launch it manually."

Clarke blanched. Manually? That would mean . . .

As she thought it, someone unstrapped their belt and Clarke twisted around, looking at Kane from her mother's side.

"What are you doing?" Asked Abby as Kane retracted himself from the yellow strap.

"Someone has to stay behind, Abby," he told her quietly. Firmly.

Clarke didn't feel anything other than distaste for Marcus Kane, but she could see that her mother felt differently, as she gripped his arm and turned to Sinclair. "There has to be another way."

Sinclair deliberated, but something told Clarke it was more for Abby's benefit than anything else. "I can go back and reprogram the system. But it'll take time."

"Time we don't have," Bellamy murmured.

For once,no one tried to contradict him. "We'll miss the window for the Eastern United States," said Sinclair. "We won't land anywhere near the Hundred."

Clarke didn't have to look at Bellamy to know he was thinking of Octavia. They'd only ever anticipated the challenge of making it to the ground. Not a secondary journey once there.

But her mother didn't see it that way. "Then we'll wait till it comes back again," Abby deadpanned, her posture stoic as if she were speaking to the Council.

"We"—Bellamy started, but Sinclair cut him off. "The Ark will be out of air by then."

Abby and Kane stared at each other, and regardless of Clarke's own perception of this man, she felt a twinge of sympathy for him and for her mother.

"Freedom," Kane told her. "Comes at a price." He stood, but her mother's hand clung to his for a few moments before she finally let him go. As he maneuvered through the row of people, many held out their own hands in thanks. Clarke watched with a lump in her throat until he reached the end.

"Mom?" she asked quietly.

Her mother just shook her head, and looked across at Sinclair. "How much air will we have?"

His expression was sympathetic, but now it turned dubious. "A week. Two weeks at most."

Two weeks spent waiting for death.

Clarke's back suddenly lurched forward as the Ark dipped without warning. Her heart jumped into her throat and a few shouts of alarm burst from the people.

Then came the sound of explosions.

The floor under Clarke rattled and her breathing sawed through her lips. "What happened?" she asked, as Bellamy helped her right herself.

They both looked at Sinclair. He picked up the pad and searched through it. His eyes lit up. "We're away," he breathed. "We've launched!"

Abby's vexation mirrored Clarke's. "How?"

"Godspeed, my friends," came Jaha's voice. "Godspeed."

Clarke looked from Bellamy to her mother as she touched the comm in her ear. Her gaze became distant. "Thelonious, where are you?"

"Right where I'm supposed to be."

Clarke looked upwards, unsure of what to feel. Jaha was staying behind. He'd given himself up.

For once, Clarke had no petty thought for the man. For once, he was acting as a true leader, like her father had. He was sacrificing himself and though Clarke still couldn't find it in herself to forgive him, for this moment in time, she respected him.

The room careened and Clarke's entire body slammed forward, the yellow strap digging into her chest. She couldn't breathe as everything shuddered around her. Some fell from their seats and smashed against the other wall, painting it red.

Her teeth clanked together and the sensation of dropping became more and more powerful, until her heart didn't feel like it was inside anymore. The grey of the room swirled around her. Screams pummeled her ears. The pictures of ash filled her mind.

But she held fast to Bellamy's hand.

Even when the room grew hot, choking the air in her lungs.

Even when her blood threatened to boil in her veins.

She held on.


	29. Chapter Twenty Six: Bellamy

**Yes, this chapter is shorter, but I started out this fanfiction in short chapters, so I want to close it in the same way. This isn't the last chapter though. That would be so mean XD. Please review!**

When Bellamy was a kid, he'd once seen an old video of a slideshow. It was premiering in the Library as a history exhibit and since he hadn't the means of much entertainment, his curiosity and desire to be away from the fear he'd felt so often when he was at home dragged him there.

The images on the screen were grainy and unfocused with age, scrawled with information Bellamy didn't care for. The images flipped over and over with moments of darkness in between. He'd closed his eyes and played a game of opening them at the exact time of the next image.

That's how it was now, except the images were coming faster than he could process, switching in the time it took him to blink.

Grey walls.

A splatter of red.

Panicked faces.

Blonde hair.

Blackness.

A buzzing erupted in his ears, drowning out the screaming voices. It was just him, the hand he held, and the force of his heart, hammering against his ribs. It was minutes but it felt much longer, like time was preserving this moment because death was close by.

Other images flashed across Bellamy's eyes, but they were memories; his life, previewed in that of a slideshow.

In the first, he was holding a small bundle to his chest and playing with the smallest set of fingers he'd ever seen. The tiny hand gripped his thumb. They didn't let go.

In the second, he was crouched in the dark, his hand over her mouth. Heavy boots traversed the apartment and they paused by the closet they were hidden inside. The baby stayed quiet and the door didn't open.

In the third, Bellamy had a book propped up to the little girl, making the sounds each word formed and trying to get her to say them correctly. She pulled the book to her and studied the pictures instead.

In the fourth, she was now crying. She didn't want to go back in the dark. But their mother had no choice, and forced her little girl into the hole in the floor.

In the fifth, the girl was gone. Bellamy stood alone before an airlock chamber, his arms held fast by two guards. His mother was on the opposite side, looking like something ethereal in her nightgown. She kissed her fingers and pressed them to the glass over him. Then she was gone.

 _"_ _There once was a boy,"_ Bellamy suddenly heard his own voice in his head, but it was younger and childlike, more innocent than he could ever remember being. A picture surged in his mind's eye, of himself crammed under the floorboards with Octavia at his side. She was scared and wanted to hear a story to combat the dark.

 _"And he had a little sister,"_ he told her. _"But she was special, because no one knew about her."_

Bellamy ground his teeth so hard, his jaw popped. Those grey walls flashed again. He wished he couldn't see the gruesome splash of blood, painting the surface of it.

 _"_ _She had to stay hidden, and though she got scared sometimes, she knew she didn't have to worry."_

Bellamy gripped Clarke's hand tighter and she gripped back. His palm tingled from the lack of circulation to his fingers.

 _"_ _Because she would always have her big brother to protect her. And she trusts her big brother, right?"_

The speed that they were dropping ate away at Bellamy, until he felt like his skin would peel from the bones.

 _"_ _Yeah,"_ he heard his little sister say, just before a deafening crash tore through the room.

Black stars exploded across his vision.

 _"_ _I do."_


	30. Chapter Twenty Seven: Clarke

**No, this is not the last chapter. Because frankly I would find it annoying to have all this happen and not include the Bellamy/ Octavia reunion. No, this will have two more chapters, ending on Clarke's POV because I found another way I wanted to end it so I was pretty excited. Anyway, sorry for the long wait and if I missed anything, such as a discrepancy, let me know because I hate those! Please review!**

* * *

 _"_ _Do you think they could see the stars from there?" the little girl asked, staring out the window to the stretch of velvet black that lay beyond. "You know, from Earth?"_

 _The girl's father placed a hand on her shoulder as his reflection appeared in the glass, painting his smiling face in shadow and starlight. "Of course," he reassured. "What good would they be if they didn't have anyone to admire them?"_

 _"_ _But what if people can't?" asked the little girl, suddenly feeling saddened by the thought. "What if, when we go down there, we forget them?"_

 _But her father didn't seem concerned over the matter and squeezed her shoulder. "Oh, Clarke. The stars do not fear being forgotten, any more than they fear the dark."_

* * *

"Clarke?"

That was the first thing she registered through the thick haze shrouding her version, cloaking her face in a thick smog. Smoke stifled the room and Clarke let out a haggard cough, the fumes singeing the inside of her throat. The air smelt of burning metal and human sweat. A coppery tang covered the insides of her mouth.

"Clarke," the voice sounded panicked. "Are you okay? I need you to answer me."

She waved her hand weakly in a pointless attempt to clear away the smoke. It caked on her skin and stung the inside of her nose. "I'm"- she was cut off by a fit of coughing. "'I'm alive. I think." Her eyes burned but she forced them open to look at Bellamy.

His face was clouded in soot, eyes pinpricks of white and brown, but Clarke thought he had never looked better. She glanced across at her mom, relieved to see her unharmed too.

Clarke managed a meager smile as she took in the rest of the ship. But that smile slipped when she registered the splash of red adorning one of the walls, the color brilliant in the tin-can grey. She swallowed and shifted her gaze to Sinclair. "How're the other Stations?"

"We lost radio-feed," he said, hacking into his shoulder. "But I think . . . I think Factory and Mecha are gone."

Clarke felt a pang shoot through her chest and she bit her lip, once again looking around the surviving station. So many lives, left behind in the stars.

"Hey." Bellamy's gruff voice penetrated her thoughts and she felt his hand tighten around hers. She forced her gaze to him, and was surprised to see the determination there, set in the tightness of his jaw and the terse line of his lips. "We did it."

Clarke tried for a smile but it fell into a grimace. "We know we made it down," she mumbled, and swung her eyes upward. "We don't know what's out there yet."

Bellamy let go of her hand and stretched down to untie his makeshift harness. Once free, he got to work on Clarke's as others slowly began to do the same. She tried blocking out any cries of dismay or sobs coming from whatever loss of life their station had endured.

Only when Bellamy was finished did he hold his hand back down to her. "Then let's find out."

"Wait," Sinclair called after them as the two of them started for the door, resting just overhead. Clarke glanced back to him as he looked over the device resting in his palms. "There's no indication of where we've even landed. There could be a deposit of radiation waiting outside for us."

Clarke stared at him. "You're saying the air could be toxic?"

Bellamy didn't move away from the door. "If the air's toxic, we're all dead anyway," he stated bluntly, and reached a hand up. He looked at Clarke, and she could see the resolve in his gaze. "Ready?"

Her heart gave a lurch but she gave an equally determined nod. "Time to meet the sky," she whispered.

Then Bellamy pressed the button, and the door swung open.

* * *

Blind. That's the first thing she was, as a sudden, brilliant shaft of light arched through the door and poured over her like water. It dug behind her lids and made her see red. The sting of smoke was nothing compared to this, but she blinked at it as quickly as she could, too desperate to see.

To know.

Clarke had spent her whole life wondering what sunlight was like. But not even in her dreams, in the freedom of paper and her own imagination could she have imagined this.

She didn't know it was a gilded sheen woven out of fire and threaded with diamonds. She didn't know how it felt to have real light, not artificial circadian bulbs, trickle through her fingers. Until now, she'd never known what it was like to be kissed by the sun.

Then a hand reached down and she was pulled into a pale ocean, hanging where the stars ought to have been.

Sky.

It was so imposing, Clarke had the urge to close her eyes and crouch down low. It was endless, expanding as far as the black curtain of space she was so used to. But she'd never stood in space. Not without walls, but here . . . this sky was uncontainable. And it was blue; bluer than any color could do it justice. Bluer than any pencil or paint she'd ever used. Wisps of what were called clouds were pinned seemingly at random.

And _the air._ Clarke had been breathing recycled oxygen her whole life and realized now what she'd been missing out on. Real air, unused air, was sharper than anything else. It was crisp and new, combined with so many _things_ and questions it made her head spin.

She shut her eyes for a moment just to take it in, filling up her lungs to their full capacity. But she couldn't keep them closed for long.

Then Clarke greeted what she'd spent dozens of sheets and lead and ancient nature books trying to accurately portray but could never quite get right.

 _Trees_. They were rich in russet browns and jade greens, spearing towards the too-blue sky. Clarke took it all in, gazing at the valley beyond. At the vast body of water at her back, looking as if part of the sky had fallen down and reflected like one great mirror. She felt a strange laugh bubble up to her lips. This world was a dance of color and shape and sound, a crescendo of sublimity, so arresting it made even the wind breathless.

Clarke turned to Bellamy and met his eyes. She stilled.

His soot-stained face was lit with the widest grin she'd ever seen. Sunlight filtered through his curls like a halo resting on the crown of his head. It made his skin seem darker and his freckles more prominent. His eyes were no longer a deep, molten brown but a beautiful auburn, burning with the fire of the sun.

Clarke stared at him and he stared back, his gaze roving over his face. There were no words. She was bursting on the inside, with color and luster the one thing she hadn't felt in a very long time.

 _Hope._

Without speaking, without turning back to the trees or the sky or the ground they'd spent decades waiting to return to, Clarke gripped the front of Bellamy's torn shirt and pulled her to him.

Their lips collided and Clarke put everything she was feeling into it, the worry, the relief, the simple joy at being where she was, alive. Her hands wove around his neck just as his wound around her waist, pulling her as close to him until there was no closer. Her fingers ran through the soft curls of his hair and one of his hands cupped the side of her face.

The kiss on the Ark had been full of goodbyes, tainted by fear and desperation, a point of light on the brink of an ever-darkening edge. But this one was different. It wasn't shouted over that black precipice at the prospect of death. It was whispered, at the realization that now, after all their time spent running, they could finally stop.

Clarke pulled back first and offered Bellamy a smile. He didn't remove his hands from around her waist as he took a slow breath. "Now what?" he asked quietly.

Clarke felt her smile broaden and she gave him the one answer he'd waited long enough to hear. "Now we find your sister."


	31. Chapter Twenty Eight: Bellamy

**SO sorry it has taken so long to post. Luckily, I've only got two chapters left of this. I was going to end it right after this one, but I kind of want to add more background to the Hundred's circumstance without Bellamy and Clarke's influence. I'm ending it on Clarke's POV, so make that three chapters left. Three, that's it, I SWEAR. Please review!**

* * *

The world was too big.

Never had Bellamy stood in a place greater than the twelve Stations composing the Ark. Never had he _seen_ a place capable of housing more than two thousand people. And, once upon a time, Earth had housed billions.

Those billions were gone now, lost in the explosions and swallowed by the fire. The few who had managed to evade the bombs by burying themselves in the ground would've been found by radiation, sooner or later.

Years ago, Octavia had once asked him about Earth. What had happened down there, she'd wondered. Where were all the butterflies now?

And Bellamy had looked down at his sister, her beating heart a broken law, his responsibility, and had told her the truth. _"A long time ago, there was a nuclear apocalypse, that covered the ground in massive explosions and ripped the world apart. But some very smart people found a way to build a flying machine that would take us to the stars, where we would wait until Earth became safe again."_

 _"Like Noah's Ark,"_ Octavia replied, and Bellamy had just smiled, because what else could he do after confessing to a six-year-old how broken that world really was?

But now, standing on the ground for himself, before columns of trees stationed side by side like soldiers preparing for war, Bellamy found it wasn't as ruined as he'd once thought, which left him a lot of options for where his sister could be and no one around to ask where she might have gone.

He resisted the urge to hit something.

"Hey."

The sound of Clarke's voice broke through Bellamy's reverie and a small hand settled on his forearm. She peered up at him with eyes too blue to make much sense of. Eclipsed between shadow and sunlight, she looked like something ethereal, the princess from Octavia's stories given flesh and bone. He didn't even notice the grime caked on her clothing, or the torn fabric of her shirt. They were alive, which made her one of the best things to look at.

Bellamy clenched his jaw and forced his gaze back to the treeline they stood in front of, a couple hundred meters from the crash site. He stared into the forest, as if expecting Octavia to come running through it any second now.

"What if she's not here?" he asked. "How are we even sure the coordinates were right? We could be on South America for all Sinclair knows."

"If he thinks we're close to the dropship, we should trust him until proven otherwise."

Bellamy clenched his hands, wishing he could silent that pestering fear probing his mind, thoughts of a hurt Octavia or a lost Octavia. The thought of no Octavia at all. "The One Hundred came down a month ago," he said in a strained tone. "They could be anywhere by this point."

Clarke moved in front of him, too short to block his view of the trees, but not too short he missed the halo of golden hair from his periphery. He lowered his eyes to hers. "Do you honestly think they would've separated so quickly?" she asked, expression pleading. "They knew their best chance of survival was staying together. If they did leave, they probably didn't go very far. Jaha spoke of an underground military base. Mount Weather."

Bellamy inwardly grimaced at the mention of the Chancellor. They weren't on the Ark anymore, so what did that make the Council on the ground? He wasn't exactly warming to the idea of a new Chancellor. "How do you know about that?"

Clarke shrugged. "My mom told me. So that's where we start."

Bellamy arched a brow at her. _"'We?'"_

Her eyes narrowed fractionally. "You didn't really think I was just going to wait around here, did you?"

Bellamy opened his mouth and then closed it, trying to choose his words carefully. But then he discarded that idea and shook his head at her. "No. Clarke, we don't know what's out there. It could be dangerous-"

"What part of any of this _hasn't_ been dangerous, Bellamy?" she challenged. "Ducking the authorities? Spacewalking? We were all preparing to die just _hours_ ago."

"Which is exactly why we shouldn't press our luck," he growled.

"I don't believe in luck."

"Clarke-"

"Look," she demanded, sky eyes determined. "I've got the map to Mount Weather. So the only way that you're getting there is if I'm coming with you. Got it?"

Bellamy glared at her, but she matched it with equal willfulness, unwavering in that infuriating way of hers and after a few heated moments, he finally relented. "Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?" he asked, almost tiredly.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Clarke said, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "But he wasn't from around here."

* * *

The ground felt as if it were constantly shifting. For the first half of the hour, Bellamy tripped and stumbled over every rock and clutch of grass embedded in the hard soil, unaccustomed to the strange terrain beneath his feet.

To his ire, Clarke seemed to have less trouble, but she added no commentary to his struggle. Instead she spoke of the change in gravity and body mass, of which Bellamy just huffed in acknowledgement, not really paying much attention to her words. The ground was too uneven, the sun too blinding. Even in the canopy of trees, his eyes ached from the strain of such brightness. Only a year ago, he'd been a soldier. Quick on his feet. Now he felt slow. Caged.

Every instinct urged him to go faster. He wanted to charge through these trees to find this military base as quickly as possible, but his own body wouldn't let him. There was a deep twinge of pain in his shoulder still that throbbed every now and then. The weight behind his eyes worsened. His legs felt less like bone and more like rubber. But he forced one foot in front of the other, and kept going.

An hour or so later, he heard it. The foreign sound of surging power that he first took for some kind of turbine. But of course, this was Earth. There were no turbines here. Bellamy closed the last few meters quickly and came to a stop upon a large, flat boulder. His legs were shaking from the exertion of the walk, but his discomfort dissolved as he took in the sight of rushing water, carving a wide pathway through the forest, waves capped in silver thread. A river.

On instinct, Bellamy looked across at Clarke who was already staring back at him, smiling again. He decided right there that her eyes were also the color of water. Sky and water and sunlight. The colors of Earth.

Tearing his gaze away, Bellamy turned back to the river. He cast a glance up and down its long stretch. He stepped close enough to the rock's edge to see over to the meandering current below. "How deep do you think it is?" he asked Clarke. Her guess was as good as his. Maybe she'd been taught how to find a way across a river in Earth Skills. Seemed like a helpful lesson to know right about now.

Clarke surveyed the river, lips pressed into a thin line, before dropping to her knees on the rock. "I can't see the bottom." She stretched out on her stomach and reached down until her fingers grazed the water's surface. "It's not cold enough to become hypothermic." She retracted her hand and extended it to him. "Hold onto me and I'll see if it's shallow enough to cross over."

Bellamy smirked down at her. "Can't swim, Princess?" he asked, his tone borderline smug. He knew she couldn't swim. Neither could he. Nobody could. There was never enough water on the Ark to spare for them to learn.

Clarke shot him a look. "I'd rather have something to hold onto just in case."

Bellamy dropped his smirk and glanced around at the tall trees they'd emerged from. His eyes snagged on something tucked into a low branch and an idea came to him. Two tugs later, he produced a thick vine. "This should work."

Clarke pulled herself up and eyed it warily. "What if that just deposits us in the middle of the river?"

"I didn't come all this way just to drown in a little water," he said. But he did propel the vine outwards with a swift jerk of his wrist that vibrated up his arm and jumped across his shoulder blades to his healing gunshot wound. He tried not to wince as they watched the vine sail across the water, its shadow flickering over the dips and eddies of the current, before it returned fluidly back.

Bellamy grabbed the vine once more and gave it one last, hard tug. "That's good enough for me."

Before Clarke could object, Bellamy tightened his hands around the vine, took a step back, and launched himself off the rock.

His weight threatened to yank him into the water, but he managed to hold on as the river blurred below him, the trees a sweep of green. Bellamy felt his heart hitch as he cut through the air.

The ground rushed up and Bellamy dropped. His knees buckled as he collided with the dirt, rolling once and coming very close to bashing his head on a pointed rock. Bellamy bit back a groan as he pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore the lances of pain dancing through his shoulder.

He looked back out across the river where Clarke stood with the vine in hand, unable to read her expression from the distance. "Bellamy?" she called, her voice strangely hollowed over the expanse.

"I'm fine," he called back to her. "Your turn!"

He watched, almost bemusedly, as Clarke fitted her hands more securely around the vine and squared her shoulders. There was only a moment's hesitation on her part before she let herself go, sunlit hair whipping out behind her as she flew forward. Bellamy tried to help ease her fall, but she slammed into him with a force that knocked them both to the ground. The air left Bellamy in a pained gasp.

On top of him, Clarke went very still for a moment before apologizing and removing herself from him. "That shoulder will never get a chance to heal like this," she said, and extended a hand down to help him. "I'll take a look at it tonight. Maybe my mom can find something to ease the discomfort when we get back."

"It's fine," Bellamy said, almost defensively. Like he was about to ask help from Abigail Griffin. No, he definitely wasn't that desperate yet.

Bellamy ignored Clarke's outstretched hand and picked himself up. So long as he wasn't bleeding to death on the ground, he'd deal with the pain. He'd let Clarke take a look later, if it appeased her, but not now. Not while they still had half a dozen miles between here and the military base to dissolve. And that was only if the map was accurate.

They continued on in silence, and Bellamy listened intently to his surroundings, making sure not to miss anything. He was aware of every snap and crunch that sounded in these woods and they only worked in putting his teeth on edge. Everything was just crunching leaves and breaking twigs and the distant whistle of a bird that had made him jump the first time he'd heard it.

His fists were aching to connect with the trunk of a tree when he spotted something ahead, and he felt himself come to an abrupt stop.

Squat and boxlike, it rose from the ground like a cracked tooth. He almost didn't recognize it from the outside. But he'd been beyond that door once before. Had gazed at it through stretched fingers. He'd watched it seal shut.

Bellamy was running before he knew it, slipping and nearly plowing into the dirt in his haste. Behind him, Clarke shouted at him to wait, but he couldn't listen; his need to know overwhelmed him in one colossal wave that swept him up and carried him forward. Memories of a young girl filled his mind. All big blue eyes and brown hair and a scared voice asking for _Bel_.

The pain in his shoulder disappeared as he broke through the last of the trees, into a small clearing littered in broken sticks and ash flakes carried over by dried fire pits. The ground was packed with the weight of many, many shoes that had left impressions in the dirt. Before him stood the dropship, ominous and silent, door gaping open like a mouth.

Empty.

Bellamy turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. Dimly, he heard Clarke come to a stop behind him, but he wasn't paying her any attention. He only had eyes for the dropship and this camp and the one question whispering, gaining volume in his head until it was screaming.

 _Where is everybody?_

"O?" her nickname burst from him before he could think better of it. He listened as the sound of his voice echoed once and faded through the trees.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. _"Octavia!"_

In that moment, Bellamy hated Earth. With all of its strong colors and smells and _hugeness_. He hadn't seen one butterfly on his journey here. Not one.

"Bellamy-" Clarke started, but he waved her off.

"Just help me look," he snapped and sprinted for the dropship. He shoved aside the plastic tapestry and surged into its heart.

There wasn't much to find; the inside of the ship was just as bare and skeletal as the rest of the camp. It all hinted at having been inhabited, but gave away nothing as to when those inhabitants might have left it behind. Maybe Clarke was right, and the Hundred really had gone to that military base. Maybe Octavia was there now, alive. Safe.

Still, he checked the hatch before he left the dropship and walked back down the gangway to where he'd left Clarke just moments before. She wasn't there anymore, and Bellamy scanned the camp until he caught a flash of blonde hair.

Clarke was standing just beyond the camp's borders, her back to him, and he made his way over, still bristling over the vacancy of this place. He didn't like the feeling it gave him, like those that had been here had left in a hurry.

Only when Bellamy came to a stop beside her did he catch what she was staring at.

For a second, he didn't know what the swells of pocketed dirt were; he'd never seen them outside of books or the screen-stories they'd sometimes play in the Library back on the Ark. But he stood in what appeared to be rows of them now, his boot not inches away from one only recently dug.

Graves.


End file.
